The Kiss That Missed
by Ardin
Summary: Exactly what the title says: missing kisses between Jack and Phryne from every episode. All stand alone stories. Not AU; show canon all the way, just with the duo giving in to their obvious attraction instead of dancing around it.
1. 1x1 Nothing Will Come of Nothing

**AN:** Exactly what it says on the tin. This will be a series of stand alone stories, one from each episode of the series, that inserts a kiss between Jack and Phryne into the episode. Some will be set during moments that we see during the episode, some will be codas, and a few may be set between moments that we see on screen. I am going to try to keep them consistent with the characters and where they are in their interactions based on the show, so they won't all be happily ever afters. Many will, but not all.

I'll be going in order through the episodes, so you'll have to be patient if you want one of the later ones, but I will be doing every episode. And while I already have a planned notion for most of the episodes, I don't have all of them and I'm willing to take polite suggestions if you have a specific scene in an episode that you would like added to in this fashion. This doesn't mean I'm going to go with your suggestion, but I'll certainly take it into consideration.

I will be naming chapters (in the dropdown menu) with my own titles rather than the episode title, but I will include an episode title in an Author's Note at the start of each. All chapter titles come from the works of Shakespeare and will be "explained" at the end of each chapter.

And, yes, I am still working on "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" for those reading and will continue updating that regularly. This one may get more frequent updates just because stand alone fluff is easier to write than long, complex dramatic mystery, but I will still be updating "OS,OM" roughly once a week. Should have a new chapter tomorrow in fact.

 **AN2:** Episode 1.1 - Cocaine Blues

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 **Nothing Will Come of Nothing**

As his police car pulled to a stop outside the Turkish Bath Palace of Madame Breda, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson could not believe the situation that he had been pulled into. Not only had he been made to look a slight fool in front of Bert the Red Ragger, but now he had been dragged out to the dankest part of Melbourne in a chase after THAT woman. He had known when she first opened the door of that bathroom - his crime scene - that she was going to be trouble, but this was far more than he'd expected to have to deal with.

But even as his frustration mounted at the trouble that she'd gotten herself into - which he now had to get her out of - he couldn't help the small smile that kept trying to surface. She may be a handful, but he couldn't deny the extent to which she also appealed to him. She was smart, beautiful, and had a fire in her that reminded him off the one he used to possess. Before the war, before his marriage had crumbled around his disinterest.

He shook himself out of his musings as he opened the car door and got out. Quick orders to his men found them entering the establishment, moving slow and cautious in the low light, mindful of Cokey and the Bull, the two henchmen Bert had mentioned. Jack had never been in a Turkish Bath before; it wasn't what he had expected. He had anticipated something more like the brothels and bordellos he'd raided through his career: lush hangings and garish colors. Even in the minimal lighting, he could see that wasn't the case at all.

With practiced gestures he signalled his men to cover the room and the various doors that led off the main bath area and it only took a few moments before one was signalling back. They'd found their suspects. Jack peered around the corner at them: two men fitting the description Bert had given and a woman, too short to be Madame Breda. At first, he couldn't make her out clearly in the faint light, swathed as she was in furs and turned away from him, but the moment she shifted and he caught her profile he knew: Lydia Andrews, wife if their murder victim.

Surprised as he was by that revelation, he didn't let it slow him down, waving his men in, they quickly overwhelmed the three individuals, cuffing them and escorting them out. They could take statements in the more controlled environment at City South.

As the numerous sergeants, constables and suspects exited the room, the noise level dropped and in the silence that took its place, Jack could hear, just barely, muffled voices and scraping sounds from one of the still closed doors. As they still had not located Miss Fisher or the "Russian dago" anywhere, Jack moved to the door and cautiously unbolted and opened the door.

Suddenly he had an armful of the Honorable Phryne Fisher. She had obviously been trying to force the door open from her side and when he'd opened it she'd fallen forward, her hands landing on his upper arms and her face pressed against his neck. He had grabbed her shoulders to stop what could have been a very nasty fall and it took him a moment to realize that what he was touching was not the cloth of the very fine clothes he had admired on her earlier, but rather bare skin. Pulling back very slightly, he glanced down and felt his heart rate accelerate dangerously. She was only wearing a towel. A very small towel which only barely wrapped all the way around to tuck at her chest and which dropped only as far as mid thigh while leaving a significant slit. He raised his eyes back to her face quickly, not entirely sure that he could control himself should he see any more of that delectable flesh.

She had recovered from the initial surprise of the door suddenly giving way in front of her and was giving him the small, knowing smile he'd seen each time they had spoken throughout the duration of the case. It was a smile that he was finding harder and harder to resist wiping off her face, especially as that seemed to be exactly what she wanted him to do.

"Inspector, glad you could join me." Her voice was soft and slightly hoarse. The words were accompanied by a glance up and down his body, a duplicate of the look he'd just swept over her except where he had looked away quickly in embarrassment and guilt, she lingered in her appraisal of every inch of him and when her eyes returned to his face, they didn't leave his lips as she spoke again, "But you seem to be a tad over-dressed for the locale."

Her expression clearly said that she'd be happy to remedy that situation for him and it pushed him over the breaking point. His hands, still on her shoulders, moved decisively. One sliding down onto her back to pull her towards him, while the other slid into her hair, tilting her head as his lips slammed down on to hers.

There was no finesse or gentleness in this kiss, just hunger and need driving him. And she answered back in kind, her lips immediately parting to invite him in and her hands running over his back and neck as she met his exploration with equal ardor. When one of her hands slid down his chest and stomach to wrap around his waist inside his suit jacket, he pulled away slightly with a groan. Opening his eyes, he was pleased to see that she was having as much difficulty as himself drawing breath. Her hair was mussed by his hands and the towel was barely staying on.

Taking advantage of the small gap he'd put between them, she pushed his suit jacket down off his shoulders and began pulling at his tie as she raised on tip toes to lick a path along his jaw. His hands clenched around her waist and he pushed her up against the wall, his lips back on hers and his tongue once against exploring her mouth. As he felt the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt being opened, he slowly brought his hands up her sides, hooked his fingers in the edge of the towel and tugged.

"Inspector."

That wasn't her voice. He pulled back to look at her flushed face. She just stared at him, eyes dark with passion.

"Inspector."

Jack woke with a start, his feet slipping off the desk to land on the floor with a jarring thud. It took him only a moment to realize he'd fallen asleep in his office, an all too common occurrence following Rosie leaving him, and only a moment longer to notice the state his dream had left his body in. He was glad of the desk that was between him and Constable Collins, who stood in the open doorway, as he was able to roll the chair he was in closer to hide his clear state of arousal.

"What is it Collins?" His voice was gravelly and he hoped that the young Constable would assume that it was just hoarse from sleep.

"I'm sorry, sir, I just wanted to let you know that I'm heading home. Constable Davis has arrived to take over the desk."

"Thank you, Collins, have a good night." He waved the young man out of the office, glad when Collins shut the door behind him.

The second that the latch caught he lowered his head to rest on the cool surface of his desk. Where the hell had that dream come from? Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He knew he was attracted to the newly minted "Lady Detective". While he hadn't let himself previously linger over the less than honorable thoughts he'd been having about Miss Fisher, they had certainly been there. Desire and heat surging through him when she'd given him that look of challenge after Mac had announced her "newest enterprise".

He knew he was attracted to her. And that in itself surprised him. He had thought he'd left all passion and desire behind him in the fields of France. Or even before that as Rosie chided him in her prudish way for what she called his "ungentlemanly desires". If it wasn't in a bed with the lights off, she deemed it "inappropriate" and so his passion and interest had slowly begun to fade and the war had cut it off entirely.

But Miss Fisher? There was a woman who wore her sexuality like a badge of honor, who communicated desire even as she spoke of more socially acceptable topics. She had set off his passions again, bringing what had been hidden for so long to the surface in grand fashion. So the dream shouldn't really come as any surprise to him. If anything he should probably prepare himself for more of the kind as he suspected that their paths would cross frequently in the coming weeks and months.

Even as those thoughts went through his mind, he felt a cold truth settle over his mind, effectively putting an abrupt end to his dream induced arousal: mutual attraction they may have, but it would never be more than that. Never be acted upon. He had seen it in her look and manner, not just with him but with all of the men around her: sex was just sex for her. Something fun to do, to be enjoyed heartily by all parties, and then to be moved past without attachment or emotion.

He couldn't do that to himself. Despite the passion that she had reawakened within him - one he hadn't known he still possessed - he was still himself. He was liberal enough to be open to the idea of premarital sexual relations, but he was incapable of having that sort of relationship without a strong monogamous attachment. Sex wasn't something he did for the sake of release, but something that came hand in hand with a certain level of commitment. He could see just how easy it would be to fall not just into lust with her, but well beyond that, and he would not put his heart through the torment of falling in love with her and knowing her intimately only to be tossed aside when she found a new play thing. When she discovered just how boring and uninteresting he really was.

The attraction was nothing. He'd certainly handled unanswered lust and attraction numerous times during the years before his marriage and the war. He could do it again. Would do it again.

He allowed himself one last remembrance of his dream and then shook himself out of it. Standing, he gathered his things and headed home. A long hard bike ride would cure much of what currently ailed him. And the rest… Well, he'd figure the rest out as it came along.

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 **AN:** The chapter titles are pulled for the stand alone words. I'll always give you the place that the words came from here at the end of each chapter, but the chapter situation may not have anything to do with the situation in the play I pull from.

The title of this chapter "Nothing Will Come of Nothing" is from Shakespeare's _King Lear_ (Act I, Scene I):

Line 89 - **Cordelia:** Nothing

Line 90 - **Lear:** How? Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.

Line 91, 92 - **Cordelia:** Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.

Basically Lear is asking his daughter to tell him how she feels about him; what she can say that will compare to what her sisters have said already. She can't come up with anything and he tells her that she'll get nothing (inheritance wise) if she doesn't do better than "nothing". She tells him that she has no ability to put her feelings into words for him.


	2. 1x2 Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

**AN:** Episode 1.2 - Murder on the Ballarat Train

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 **Double, Double, Toil and Trouble**

She was glad that he had stopped by; glad for any distraction from thoughts of her sister. She was sure that she was doing the right thing by taking in Jane. Yes, the girl had a troubled history and, yes, she brought up a lot of painful memories for Phryne. She might even prove to be more of a handful than could be dealt with, but Phryne doubted it.

She saw a lot of herself in Jane. The same quick wits and do what it takes attitude. Where others saw a delinquent who would never make it anywhere in life, Phryne saw a young girl who had managed to survive through circumstances that she never should have been faced with at such a young age. She saw resourcefulness and a willingness to learn. Jane just needed a guiding hand, someone to see that her cleverness was directed in a reasonable way. Phryne could do that. Just as someone had done the same for her.

And when Inspector Robinson had said that welfare had agreed to the fostering, she was extremely glad, despite his doubts. And when he agreed to stay for a drink, she was even happier. She hadn't realized how much she wanted company until they sat down and started talking. He was uncomfortable at first, that much was obvious. She wasn't sure whether it was was the topic of conversation (she'd seen the regret in his eyes as he'd informed her that he had no children of his own), the venue of the exchange (her parlor, her turf as it were, late at night), or herself that was causing his discomfort. She suspected a combination of the latter two and the idea gave her a thrill.

She would have to have been blind not to notice how attractive the Detective Inspector was - and not just physically, as his intelligence and sarcastic humor were equally appealing - and, given the moment in the train car when their gazes had locked and the way his eyes kept flicking down to her lips, he seemed to feel the same about her. Not that it really mattered. Phryne might be extremely liberal when it came to her views on sex and relationships, but she drew the line at another woman's husband - at least without said woman's consent - and Jack, for all his great appeal and as much as she'd very much enjoy seeing how his alpha dog attitude would translate into the bedroom, belonged to another woman.

Oh, it was obvious that there was trouble of some kind on that front. Phryne had been a keen observer of human nature since long before she became an investigator and it hadn't taken long for her to notice that Jack's home life was not as simple as just being a married man. But a strained marriage was still a marriage and, as much as it disappointed her to think it, Phryne would respect that. Not that it wasn't still fun to flirt with him. He was always so uncomfortable when she said something risque or stood that little bit too close. It baffled her that a man that good looking and charming could be so apparently inexperienced at dealing with a woman showing an interest.

The one awkward drink he had so reluctantly agreed to turned into three and she was pleased to find that they had much in common. It had been a long time since she had come across anyone as well read as herself or as interested in such a wide range of topics and she immersed herself in the conversation, leaving thoughts of her childhood and the child she had just taken responsibility for behind.

When Mr. Butler quietly interrupted some while later to inquire if they needed anything more before he went off to bed, it was a jarring return to the real world. Assuring the amiable man that they would be fine and that she would see the Inspector out, Phryne turned back to look at Jack. He seemed to be equally disappointed to be pulled from their conversation and they sat staring at each other for a good while. She wished he would say something, she wasn't really sure about what to do in this moment, having no practice at watching a man she wanted in her bed walk out the door unseduced. She didn't want him to leave, she was certain of that, but she also knew he couldn't stay.

Eventually, Jack pulled his eyes reluctantly away from her own and, a slight blush rising to his cheeks, glanced down at his watch. Startled by the time, nearly 1:00am she noticed looking at the mantle clock, he stood abruptly, his balance wavering for a moment before he regained his equilibrium. She followed at a more sedate pace, not bothering to hide her smile at his moment of clumsiness.

"Well, it's gotten quite late." He shook his head at this statement of the obvious, "Thank you for the drinks. And the company."

She nodded silently, not sure what words to say at this point, and gently gestured toward the entryway. They walked slowly, both reluctant to end the pleasant evening, and still made it to the door far faster than Phryne would have liked. She watched as he pulled on his hat and coat and then opened the door for him. He stepped into the open doorway and turned to face her. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he finally spoke.

"Good night, Phryne." His voice was low and she thrilled at how her name sounded on his lips, "It's been a pleasure."

"Likewise." She smiled. He was starting to turn away when she spoke again, "Jack." She paused, unsure what to say next. The pause stretched on for a moment longer before she continued, "Thank you for your help with Jane."

He smiled in response and was about to respond when she moved.

She doesn't know what impulse compelled her forward, but before she had time to consider what she was doing she had taken a step forward and was raising slightly on her toes to lean in and brush a gentle kiss across his cheek. She lingered there for a moment, her lips against his skin, hearing his sharp intake of breath, before pulling away and settling back onto flat feet. Her gaze went to his face - eyes locking on his - and she realized that the expression of want on his face must be echoed on her own as he let out a ragged breath, his eyes shifting to her lips, just inches from his own. Happiness surged through her as he began to slowly lean into her, his eyes nearly black with desire.

The sound of a car rumbling down the adjacent street pulled him back to himself. She could see on his face the moment when the want that had momentarily consumed him was replaced by guilt. She could feel that guilt within herself as well and was glad when he took a step back, putting some much needed distance between the two of them. He was now standing squarely in the doorway and the cool night air seemed to be helping clear his head. Now guilt was clearly etched on his face and he couldn't look directly at her as he spoke.

"You're very welcome, Miss Fisher." Her heart sank at the formal address, she had been "Phryne" to him just a minute earlier.

Before she could respond, he had spun around on his heel and was striding quickly down the walk. He didn't look back until he had gone through the gate and latched it, then he paused and looked up at her, where she stood framed in the doorway. He was as motionless as a statue, one hand still gripping the top of the gate. Long moments passed and Phryne could only imagine the war that was being waged within him at that moment, but eventually the good man, the honorable man in him won out - as Phryne knew it would - and he turned and strode down the street and out of sight.

Letting out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, she shut the door and reluctantly headed up the stairs, surprised by how lonely the house suddenly felt.

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 **AN:** "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble" is from Shakespeare's Macbeth (Act IV, Scene I). It is a repeated part of the spell that the witches are casting:

Lines 10,11/20,21/35,36 - **Three witches** : Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble.


	3. 1x3 The Chimes at Midnight

**AN:** Episode 1.3 - The Green Mill Murder

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 **The Chimes at Midnight**

Phryne just barely managed to hold in her laugh at the stunned look on Hugh's face when he'd seen Dot in her smart suit and red lipstick. She could not, however, contain one parting comment to the young man before she left them to the courting rituals of the young and innocent. She had briefly considered sticking around to watch, but figured that they would be awkward enough even without an audience.

Besides she had her own appointment with a charming, handsome man to keep.

She waltzed into the City South station just ten minutes later, her speedy passage through the city streets in her Hispano enough to get her heart rate up and adrenaline pumping while not mussing a single hair. She headed straight into the Inspector's office, admiring him as she walked the few paces.

He was sitting on the corner of his desk, considering the contents of a file with great concentration, and she couldn't blame the Hispano for the sudden uptick in her heart rate at the pose. He really was a fabulous specimen: confident and collected. He looked up as her heels signaled her approached and closed the file.

She stopped in front of him as she spoke, "You summoned me, Inspector Robinson."

"Yes," He paused. She couldn't tell whether it was surprise at her accepting said summons or something else that caused his momentary silence, but he continued on in short order, "I found these plates underneath the floorboards of Leonard Stevens' apartment." He handed them to her and her hopes raised. Despite successfully getting him off the hook for murder, Phryne was worried about the fate of her friend Charlie and the truths that had been revealed about him during the case. But if the Inspector was handing the evidence to her…

"What do you want me to do with them?" Could he really be doing what she thought he was doing? Ignoring police procedure? Ignoring a crime? Not that it should be a crime at all, she huffed internally. The law shouldn't be able to tell her friend who to love.

"Have them incinerated." Her smile widened at his response. He was going to ignore the law in favor of protecting a man who had hurt no one. Her heart soared as she locked eyes with the wonderful man in front of her.

"I thought your hands were tied?" Even as she asked it - repeated back to him the figurative words he'd said to her earlier - she couldn't help the images that flew quickly through her mind at the literal idea. Images of her running her hands down his body as he lay tied to her bed, or, even better, him caressing her while her hands were secured to the headboard. The way he quickly looked her up and down before he replied did not help the heat coursing through her.

"Yes, but yours are not."

He really was doing it. Handing over evidence so that a good man could go free. She smiled in sheer joy and, before she could stop herself or consider her actions, she stepped forward and kissed him.  
It was a brief meeting of lips; an impulse of the moment. And she pulled back quickly, prepared to issue a flirtatious goodbye and then leave, but she stopped as she saw his face. His eyes were wide in shock, but his pupils had dilated so they looked almost black and they were fixed on her lips. That look of mixed surprise and desire sent shockwaves through her and she looked down to regain her control.

As she did so, she noticed that he had dropped the file folder he had been so intent upon when she arrived. A photo corner was just peaking out and curious she bent to pick it up. Straightening, she opened the file to find herself looking back. Her mug shots from earlier. Nothing else. The folder was empty save the four photos. She looked back up at Jack.

He was still sitting motionless on the edge of the desk. But where earlier his expression had been heat and surprise, now it held guilt and worry, obviously concerned about what her reaction to the folder would be. Her grin eased his fears and, as she stepped closer to him under pretense of placing the file on his desk, the heat returned to his gaze and an almost predatory smile appeared on his lips.

When she moved into him the second time, he was ready. His hands gripped her waist as hers came up around his shoulders and their lips met again. Where the last kiss had been a barely there touching of lips, this one turned quickly heated as she opened her mouth to invite him in and ran a hand up into his hair. He shifted on the desk, opening his legs and pulling her to stand between them.

As she ran a hand down his chest to play with the first button on his waistcoat, he came back to reality. Kissing her was everything that he wanted, everything he'd been thinking about since shortly after he first met this wild firebrand of a woman, but things weren't that simple.

Settling his hand over hers on his chest, he ended the kiss slowly. He kept his eyes closed for a moment as he pushed her away from him gently, his hand sliding reluctantly away from her hip and his other letting go of her hand. Opening them, he watched her expression, his own full of apology, willing her to understand. The confusion and desire in her eyes disappeared quickly, replaced by a gentle acceptance.

"My marriage…" His voice was hoarse and he swallowed before trying again, his eyes never leaving hers, "My marriage may not be a happy one, or even much of one since she left, but I am still married."

Phryne could hear the reluctance in his voice and see the desire that still lingered in his expression. She could see how much self-control it was taking him not to give into the temptation that still stood so very close. Trying to make it easier on him, she gave him a small smile and stepped back a couple of paces. The renewed distance seemed to help, but a new expression of guilt and worry took hold of his features as he frowned at her and continued to speak.

"It's not that I don't want…" His eyes blazed a slow, sensual trail up and down her body before returning to her face, "I do, I really do, but…"

He closed his eyes again, trying to contain all of the many emotions flowing through him: guilt and regret loomed the largest, but there was also worry, fear, and no small amount of want. He opened them when she spoke, her voice full of understanding and empathy.

"I understand, Jack." Her voice was soft, her words deliberate. "Please don't beat yourself up about this. You're a good man and nothing happened. It was just a kiss." She knew she was lying to herself. It may have started as just a kiss, like the hundreds of others she'd share with dozens of men throughout her years, but that wasn't what it had ended as. She hadn't realized just how incredibly much she wanted this man. And not just physically, though that urge was certainly strong, but also in every other way. He was a good man - kind, intelligent, honest to a fault, loyal, and wonderful - and she wanted him in her life.

"Yeah," he sighed, looking away from her, "JUST a kiss." The emphasis that he put on 'just' made her think that he knew just as well as she how much of a lie that was, but she didn't know what else there was to say or do. Best to leave him to his thoughts and return home where she could really think about the evening's events as well.

When he looked back up at her, she gave him a gentle smile, "Goodnight, Inspector." Her use of his title helped reset their boundaries and he smiled back.

"Goodnight, Miss Fisher."

She turned and made her way to the door. Pausing in the doorway, she turned partway back to him.

"You'll let me know if anything changes right?"

He understood immediately that she was referring to his marital status. He answered with a smile and a nod and watched her turn and walk out of the office. He stayed seated on the edge of his desk until he heard the station door close and then stood and moved over to his chair. As he sank down into it, he caught sight of the folder of her photos. Grinning, he reached out and picked one up: Phryne against the station wall, her fingers held up like a gun.

Maybe it was time to make some changes.

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 **AN:** "The Chimes at Midnight" is from Shakespeare's Henry IV, Part II (Act III, Scene II):

Line 187 - **Falstaff:** We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow

Falstaff is just saying that they've heard the clock strike midnight, signalling the end of another day. But the line is famous because it also foreshadows the end that Falstaff will face when he is rejected by the new king, who was once his closest friend.


	4. 1x4 Sought the Remedy

**AN:** Episode 1.4 - Death at Victoria Dock

 **AN2:** Okay, so very slight change to episode chronology for this one: Peter doesn't show up at Wardlow until after Phryne is shot at. This kind of change will not be the normal for this series. As much as possible I will stick to the episode as it stands.

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 **Sought The Remedy**

"I'm just lending you a helping hand." Phryne sank into one of the parlor armchairs, pulling her skirt up slightly to examine the damage done to her stockings and knees when Jack had pushed her down. Her voice was petulant. It wasn't like she had gone out of her way to get shot at, she was just following the clues wherever they led.

"At this stage, the only benefit of your helping hand is that I might have a walk-up start when it comes to investigating your eventual murder." His own voice was full of stress and worry as he put a hand out to lean against the wall. When she glanced over, she could see the tension in his shoulders, despite the seemingly relaxed posture.

She finished pulling off the second stocking, tossed it onto the table with the first, and then stood, taking a few steps towards where he stood against the windows. "Relax Jack, it's nothing that a couple of bandages and a stiff drink can't fix. I'm fine."

He gave her a sharp look before speaking, his voice raw with emotion. "It's great that you're fine. But you were just shot at, so I'm not particularly okay." He kept his eyes locked on hers for a moment and then looked away, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

It took her a moment to really process what he was saying, to understand that his problem was not with the shooting so much as it was with the possibility of losing her.

She took another step towards him, putting herself within arms reach. He still wasn't looking at her, clearly embarrassed by what he'd just admitted.

"Jack." Her voice was soft, a gentle appeal.

He still didn't look up. Instead he tried to brush past her, mumbling something about needing to get back to the station to file a report.

She gently grabbed his wrist before he could take more than one step. He stopped, but still refused to look at her, now appearing fascinated by the wall over her shoulder instead. She watched his face, not wanting to scare him by moving or speaking. They stood that way for several long moments before his eyes flicked briefly to her face. She took that as her cue.

Slowly, deliberately, she raised his hand to lay his palm against her cheek.

"I'm here, I'm safe."

His eyes again flicked to her face and this time held her own as she gently leaned into his touch. She watched his expression closely, surprised that it could show so many diverse emotions at once: fear, confusion, need. She hoped that he could read as much in her expression as well: nervousness, care, lust. He must have been able to as the fear slowly receded and a gentle, befuddled smile took its place on his handsome features. It was amazing how well they could read each other after only a few short months.

She shifted slightly, her face no longer settled against his hand. The disappointment and loss that briefly touched his features when she moved were all the confirmation that she needed.

"Jack." Her voice was a lilting whisper, her nerves gone, replaced by joy. She hadn't known until that moment how far her feelings for the Inspector had built in such a short time. Or maybe she just didn't want to acknowledge them before, but she certainly was going to now.

With her eyes locked on his, she turned her head just enough to lay a light, lingering kiss on his palm.

In the half second after, she watched all other emotions on his face wiped away to just one: desire.

Then he was in motion. The hand she had kissed swept across her cheek and into her hair, his other darted to her waist, and then his lips were on hers.

The kiss was nothing like she had ever imagined it would be and she'd considered it on quite a few occasions. It was neither a brief, simple press of lips to each other nor a hot, hard coming together of tongues and teeth. It was so much better.

'God, but the man could kiss.' It was the only coherent thing that she could think of as she brought her arms up and around his shoulders. The kiss was slow and sensual, his lips against hers deliberate and steady, unwilling to be rushed. His hand in her hair gently massaged her scalp as the hand at her hip slid around to her back bringing her closer against him.

She was glad of her grip on his shoulders as her knees buckled slightly when he opened his mouth and slid his tongue across the seam of her lips. She couldn't help the low moan that slipped out as she happily opened to let him in. And still he didn't rush. He meticulously mapped her mouth, every sweep of his tongue against hers sending jolts of arousal through her body.

Usually she wasn't one to let her lovers dictate encounters, but this was so different from every other kiss she'd ever experienced. Jack wasn't trying to control her with his motions, he was seducing her, getting and giving everything possible from this first kiss. And she wanted to experience and memorize every single moment of it along with him.

The hand at her back shifted, sliding slowly down until it was caressing her bottom through the soft fabric of her skirt. And then he was turning them and pushing her gently back against the parlor wall, his lips never leaving hers, the hand at the back of her head cushioning the impact before moving to her neck. She barely even noticed the move, too engrossed by his hands and lips and scent to care. Phryne had never expected him to be so sure of himself or so talented; had always assumed that he'd be a little inexperienced and hesitant. But as his hand shifted from her buttocks down her thigh to coax her leg up around his hip, it was clear that her assumptions had been wildly off point.

He settled himself against her and she could feel his arousal against her stomach. Feeling how much he wanted her was the ultimate aphrodisiac for Phryne and she tightened her leg around his waist, grinding herself against him. His hand spasmed on her thigh, clenching her flesh as he finally broke the kiss to let out an animalistic groan.

They were both panting heavily as they stared at one another. Phryne's lips were swollen from their kisses and her chest rose and fell quickly as she tried to regain her breath. Jack took her in through dark, hooded eyes. He had never wanted anyone or anything more in his entire life. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he pushed his hips into her, grinding slowly and deliberately against her.

Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes slamming shut at the sensation as she moaned his name in a breathy voice that sent shivers up and down his spine. He leaned in, intent on her now exposed throat. She could feel his hot breath against the pulse point on her neck, her hands on his shoulders urging him in, when the sound of a throat being cleared broke through the moment.

Every fiber of her being protested as Jack pulled back, but she was pleasantly surprised that he didn't spring away from her in embarrassment. Opening her eyes, they locked once again on his and it was clear from his expression that he had no intention of being ashamed of their passionate embrace. He slowly lowered her leg back to the floor and took just the smallest step back from her, not trying to hide what they had been doing at all.

His quiet confidence and sexual presence in that moment made Phryne want him all the more. She desperately wanted to tell whoever had interrupted to go hang so that she could feel him against her again. Their eye contact broke as he turned slightly to take in the sight of Mr. Butler standing in the parlor doorway. The older man looked neither surprised nor upset by what he had just seen, merely waiting patiently to be acknowledged. Jack glanced back at her and, with a stab of masculine pride, realized she was not yet in a coherent enough state to speak, her breath still coming in short pants and her eyes black with lust. He returned his gaze to the other man.

"What is it, Mr. Butler?" His voice was gravelly and slightly breathless, but otherwise didn't give away the arousal that still coursed through him.

Butler gave him a small, knowing smile before addressing Phryne. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am. There's a Peter Smith to see you, Miss Fisher. Says it's urgent. He's waiting at the back door."

Jack was once again watching her as she processed Butler's words. He was at once impressed and marginally disappointed by how quickly she went from barely comprehensible to lucid. Her eyes immediately took on the gleam of excitement and curiosity that always overwhelmed him during cases. It was this Phryne - intelligent, determined and with such zeal - that he had started falling for, against his better judgement, those few months ago. The firebrand Lady Detective was just as attractive to him as the panting sexual woman that she'd been just moments ago and he had to push back another wave of arousal at the sight.

She smiled brightly at Mr. Butler, silently acknowledging his message, before stepping away from the wall, tweaking her skirt back into place, and speaking. "This could be very useful, Jack." Her voice was back to her usual clear tone, no trace of arousal present, "He's one of the anarchists. Could have some very valuable information."

She gestured for Mr. Butler to lead the way and waited while he turned and headed out of the room. Once he was gone Phryne stepped up next to Jack. She stood next to him, looking through the doorway as she spoke.

"I look forward to finishing this… conversation at a later point, Inspector." She kept her volume low and Jack could once again hear the desire in her tone. The way she paused before 'conversation' and the heavy emphasis she put on the word sent a jolt straight to his groin. He wanted nothing more that to say 'screw the case' and haul her upstairs to finish what they had started, but he held that reaction back. If she could be professional about this then so could he.

Clearing his throat, he nodded and spoke, "I look forward to it, Miss Fisher."

She grinned widely at him before heading out of the room, making sure to ghost her fingers across the hand at his side as she went past him. He shook his head, trying to clear it of her intoxicating influence, before following her out.

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 **AN:** Before you all say it, I know that this is slightly off canon with regards to Jack being married and too good a man to break those vows. But it gets a tad tiresome to write the angst of that reality all the time. There's only so many of this kind of situation that I can get them into and have end because he's married, without getting massively depressed. So, yeah.

 **AN2:** "Sought the Remedy" is from Shakespeare's As You Like It (Act V, Scene II):

Line 28-39 - **Rosalind:** There was never anything so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of "I came, saw, and overcame." For your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them.

Rosalind is acknowledging that her sister and Orlando's brother fell in love unreasonably quickly. They meet, they look each other over, they fall in love with each other, they sigh over that love, they ask why each sighs, the find that the reason is love, and they look for a solution to that love. She says that they had better find that solution (marriage) quickly or they will fall in to bed together before marrying.


	5. 1x5 Bereft Me of All Words

**AN** : Episode 1.5 - Raisins and Almonds

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 **Bereft Me of All Words**

'How the hell had that happened?' Phryne asked herself as she sank down into her chair in the parlor, a glass of whiskey in one hand while she draped the other over her eyes. 'How the hell did I get myself into this?'

She had been wracking her brain for the last few days, trying to answer that exact question. Ever since that moment in his office, when a difficult subject and standing a little too close together had become something more.

She took a long pull of her drink, closed her eyes, and let herself remember that moment. Despite the complications it had brought to their relationship and her own mental well being, it had certainly been a moment that she wanted to be able to recall for a long while to come.

They'd been in Jack's office discussing the case. She had been trying to convince him, between discussions of break ins and alchemy, that Miss Lee wasn't the culprit. While looking at the page she'd found in the book, they'd ended up standing side by side. Close enough that she could smell him: an enticing mixture of pomade, Yardley's, and starch overlying a distinctly masculine odor.

"She wouldn't have killed him, Jack. She loved him." She had looked over at him, his face just a few inches from her own. That's when she'd first felt it - though at the time she couldn't identify it - something that went beyond the normal pure sexual attraction she usually felt in his presence. "They were having an affair."

"He was married." His voice sounded rougher than usual, though that might just have been her imagination. However, she definitely didn't imagine the way that his eyes flicked down to her lips for a brief moment.

"It happens." Were they still talking about Saul and Miss Lee? She hadn't been sure anymore as she watched his eyes darken and felt her heart rate speed up.

And then his lips were on hers. Or her lips were on his? She's not sure who initiated the kiss and at the time she hadn't cared.

His lips were warm and softer than she had ever imagined. His hand on her waist was hot, her skin ablaze from his touch even through the layers of her jacket and blouse. And his hair under her fingers - when had she wrapped that hand around his neck? - was silky to her touch.

She opened her mouth, ran her tongue along his lower lip, desperate for more of his taste and touch. His lips parted at her request and their tongues had just met, a brief contact that sent a jolt of desire coursing through her, when he abruptly pulled away, his hand jerking away from her side as if he'd been burned. The distance caused her arm to fall away and she stood staring at him, feeling oddly bereft by the several feet he had just put between them.

They stared at each other for several long moments, neither speaking, the office becoming more and more uncomfortable with every passing second. She could read the guilt that swept over his features and she had no difficulty identifying the source: he was married and he'd just kissed a woman who was not his wife.

He looked away first, his eyes settling on the scrap of paper which lay, momentarily forgotten, on his desk. He grabbed up the page and she could read the relief at the distraction on his face as he spoke, his voice gravely and breathless.

"Well, there's your motive." He spoke as though the last minute hadn't happened and she had gone along with it, her own feelings on the kiss less than coherent. That one brief kiss had made her feel in a way that she hadn't let herself in a very long time and she didn't know how to cope with that reality.

She had joined him in the forced, uncomfortable conversation that had followed, speaking of rage and motives, and had been heartily glad when Collins had interrupted them just a few minutes later, providing her with a solid exit opportunity.

Sitting in her parlor alone with the benefit of a few days between the incident and the present, she was still no clearer on what had happened or how she really felt about it.

She took another sip of her drink and shifted in the armchair trying to get comfortable, though she hadn't truthfully been able to get properly relaxed in her own skin since that kiss. And remembering the feel of his hand on her and the softness of his lips did not help matters.

The kiss wasn't the problem. She had wanted to kiss him since very early into their association. How could she not? He was handsome and intelligent with a dry sense of humor that she found particularly intriguing.

No, the issue wasn't that they had kissed. The issue was how she had felt during and since. Because in the days that had followed, she had spent a significant amount of time analyzing those feelings and had come to one conclusion. And it was not a comfortable one for her.

Phryne Fisher was not a woman who fell in love. She enjoyed the intimate relationships that she fell into, even cared for some of them to a degree, but made a point of always keeping an emotional distance. She had long since decided that love was a dangerous game and one not worth playing.

To let yourself fully fall for someone else, to put even a small percentage of your heart and happiness into their hands, was to open yourself to nothing but pain. Rene had taught her that and taught her well. It had been her mantra for a decade.

So when, exactly, had she given herself permission to fall in love with Jack Robinson?

She didn't know and in many ways it didn't even matter. She had, their kiss had shown her that, and now she was feeling exactly the kind of pain that she had been striving for ten years to avoid. Not the type of physical pain that Rene had inflicted, but the emotional pain of knowing that there was no happily ever after to be sought or found.

This pain was worse, she decided after some deliberation, than that of Rene's gripping fists and hard slaps. Worse because it was in her heart, not her skin. Worse because she was having a hard time seeing any end to it. And worse because the conversation they'd had after wrapping the case made her certain that her feelings weren't unrequited, that maybe he felt some or all of the same thing she did.

They had been back at the station, the cobbler put away for the death's of Yossi and Saul, and the adrenaline of the armed standoff at the market faded away, though she could still easily picture his distressed face when she had deliberately stepped into the line of fire. Miss Lee had been released to go home and grieve. To try to move past her lover's death.

"Jack." Her voice was weary as she stepped into his office. The case, and the things that had happened during it, had taken a lot out of her.

His voice held a similar exhaustion, "I'm still here."

"Poor Miss Lee." She moved to his sideboard and grabbed the bottle and glasses that sat there. "Saul was lost to her from the moment they met." She tried to push down the self-pity she felt when she realized that the same could be said of Jack and herself as she took the seat opposite him.

"I've been contemplating what to write to his wife." He looked at her as if he hoped that she might have some ideas in that regard, but she didn't have any wise words for him. She was slightly ashamed to realize that she really hadn't thought much about Saul's wife during the case. The many times that she had thought about marriage over the last few days, it had been Jack's wife that she dwelled on. With a heavy sigh for her own selfishness, she poured them drinks as she replied.

"Five years and half a world apart. What kind of marriage can survive that?" She was looking directly at him when she asked and was slightly surprised by the guilt that stole over his features. It took her a moment to realize that he might be taking that question in light of their own situation rather than Saul's. That thought was confirmed when he spoke again and his words had nothing to do with the case.

"I went to war a newlywed."

"But you came home." She wasn't sure where this conversation might be headed. Didn't know if he intended to fully bring up what had happened in this very office just a few short days earlier or if they would dance around it as they did so many other things.

"Not the man my wife married 16 years ago." His voice was full of guilt and shame and she tried to diffuse that feeling, not wanting him to feel that way about something that had in no way been his fault. No one could predict how war would affect them and she knew all too well how much even a short time at the front could change someone.

"War will do that to you." His head jerked up and he looked her straight in the eye, something he'd been actively avoiding since their kiss. She held his gaze, trying to convey without additional words how very much she understood. She had told him, shortly after they met, that she had been part of an ambulance unit in France during the war and he seemed to suddenly remember that she truly could empathize with him about that part of his life. He nodded his head slowly before speaking again.

"My wife's been living with her sister for some time now." He spoke slowly, deliberately as if he were willing her to understand all the things that he wasn't saying. He was no longer looking at her, now fascinated by his hands in his lap.

Phryne didn't respond. She didn't know what she could possibly say. She had suspected since early on in their association that something wasn't quite right in his wedded life. The late nights spent in her parlor had suggested that he had no one to go home to and the way he dug into Mr. Butler's cooking certainly hinted that home cooked meals were not a norm in his life.

A week ago she might have had something helpful or at least placating to say on the matter. But after the kiss and all the feelings that it had brought to the surface, how could she say anything at all. And she was highly ashamed by the surge of joy that had briefly gone through her at the confirmation that his marriage was not a happy one. She was brought out of those thoughts as he continued speaking.

"But a marriage is a marriage, Miss Fisher." This time he was looking directly at her when he spoke, his eyes fixed on her own. Time seemed to slow down as she processed the many emotions in his tone and on his features. She heard the unspoken apology in his voice and saw the yearning in his eyes. For a moment she couldn't breath as she realized that the feelings she'd been having since his lips had touched hers were not unique to her alone. She felt stupid for not realizing it earlier. A man like Jack did not kiss someone purely out of lust. Did not betray a marriage - as he obviously felt he had - on a whim of desire. It would take more, something deeper for him to give in. The knowledge made it harder to utter her next words.

"Especially to a man of honor." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She watched his face fall as she said it and could see the disappointment that flashed momentarily in his eyes before he looked away. She had accepted the unspoken apology, had acknowledged what wasn't being said: he cared for her, wanted her, but wouldn't betray his vows. As she watched his face she wondered if she should have done the opposite. Had he wanted her to fight? Did he want her to convince him?

But she couldn't have done that, even if he had directly told her that's what he wanted. He was a good man and she would not ask him to compromise so many of the things that her feelings for him were built upon. She had called him a man of honor and that's precisely what Jack Robinson was. He was a married man, no matter the state of that marriage or how much he might want her or even love her, and he could never act on his feelings beyond that one kiss without it tearing him up inside. And she would never ask it.

She had instead pushed down her own feelings and turned the conversation in a safer direction. He had followed her lead and they had managed to spend a relatively pleasant hour just talking. They had talked of the war - in vague terms - and of their childhoods - in colorful anecdotes - but she had bid him goodnight before they could potentially end up in more dangerous waters. It had already been an emotionally draining day and too soon for any conversation beyond light hearted remembrances.

As she saw herself home, she worried about what the future might bring for them.

She suspected that he might put some distance between them on future cases as a result of the new feelings that had come to light, to ensure that they couldn't find themselves giving into temptation again. And that might crush her. Because above any other feelings or desires, Jack was the closest thing to a best friend she'd had since Janey.

And with that thought, she realized that she had just answered her own question.

How the hell had she fallen in love with Jack Robinson? How could she not? She had fallen for him for all the reasons why he had pulled away from their kiss. Because he was an honorable man, a good man, possibly the best she'd ever known. And for all the same reasons that had made him such a close friend: loyalty, sense of humor, and his drive for justice.

She wondered how something as complicated as falling in love could happen so easily, but stopped before the train of thought was really even fully formed. It didn't really matter how it had happened. All that mattered now was how she was going to deal with that reality now that she had realized and, mostly, accepted it.

"I'm in love with Jack." She tried the words out loud. They sounded strange, wrong and yet somehow also satisfying. She considered saying it again, but decided that her heart had taken about as much as it could for one night.

Standing, she drained her glass, set it on the table and headed up to bed with a new question ringing in her mind: 'How do I keep Jack from pushing me away now that we've realized? I may never have him as a lover, but I'll be damned if I lose him as a friend.'

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 **AN: HELP!** I'm having some trouble deciding which scene to use for the next chapter "Ruddy Gore". I have picked a title: Plays Many Parts (because really what other title could there be for a theatre episode?). And there are a couple of scenes that I'm considering, but I'd really like to know what all of you think. Remember, these are scenes that I can insert a kiss into without screwing with the rest of the canon (for the most part) or missing scenes from the episode. **PLEASE** let me know what scenes you think would work best for this, maybe a reason or two. Can't guarantee I'll pick any of your suggestions, but definitely could use some help.

 **AN2:** "Bereft Me Of All Words" is from Shakespeare's Merchant Of Venice (Act III, Scene II):

Line 180-190 - **Bassanio:**

Madam, you have bereft me of all words.  
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.  
And there is such confusion in my powers As after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved prince there doth appear Among the buzzing pleased multitude,  
Where every something, being blent together,  
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,  
Expressed and not expressed. But when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence.  
O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!

 **Meaning:** Bassanio is saying that she [Nerissa] has left him speechless, but that his heart responds to her words. His emotions are confused and wild from her words, but that he promises that he will not take off the ring until he is dead.


	6. 1x6 Plays Many Parts

**AN:** I'm not particularly happy with this chapter and I may post a rewrite at some point, but this is now my 3rd attempt and I didn't want to leave you all hanging. Let me know what you think.

 **AN2:** Episode 1.6 - Ruddy Gore

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 **Plays Many Parts**

As Jack maneuvered his way around the sets, props and many stagecraft items that littered every inch of the theatre's backstage, he tried not to dwell too hard on what had just happened on stage. It was difficult, the moment when the sandbag had come crashing down near Miss Fisher - too near her for his comfort - kept flashing through his mind. He tried to shake it off and stay focused on anything that might be out of place or anyone who didn't belong. Both tasks were complicated to start - by uncertainty over what was normal for the performance and what might not be - without the added distraction of Miss Fisher's near demise.

He paused for moment, listening intently to the noises around him, trying to sort those on stage from the rest, and the scene that had played out on stage once again flashed through his mind in painful detail.

Phryne in the borrowed bonnet, calm and confident and beautiful as she commented on his sudden interest in operetta.

He enjoyed when she teased him, wit and irreverence in every syllable even when the words themselves were nothing out of the ordinary. He'd never really appreciated those characteristics in a woman before, wasn't sure when he'd started to appreciate them in her or when he'd begun to respond with his own jibes, though he thought it had been very early in their acquaintance. In many ways, their duel of wits and words was the most solid foundation of their friendship, more so even then the shared interest in problem solving and justice.

He'd watched from upstage as she was directed to her mark, had tamped down the small bubble of jealousy that sprung up at watching Evans touch her as he guided her to her place, and had only the briefest of moments to react when he'd heard the creaking of boards above him. The sheer terror that had gone through him as he pushed her out of the way of the falling sandbag was only just now, long minutes later, beginning to abate. He had come so close to losing her.

He didn't want to contemplate why that idea was so painful. By all rights, he shouldn't be all that attached to the self-styled Lady Detective. She was constantly butting in on his cases, contriving numerous (frequently ridiculous) reasons for her involvement in police matters. While he certainly shouldn't want her dead - even at her most annoying, she wasn't that bad - he should certainly want her away from his murder investigations. And had in the beginning. But not anymore. It was a problem, for more than one reason.

He pushed that thought away. Wandering through the half darkness with a double murderer on the loose was not the time to dissect his growing affection for Miss Fisher. Instead he began moving again, his keen eyes peering into corners as he pondered the killer's motivation. Hard to do, when he wasn't even sure who they had been trying to kill this time. Copeland had been the obvious target of the first murder, but this second one was more complicated.

Miss Fisher had certainly been standing immediately under the sandbag making her the obvious possibility. But she'd been wearing part of Miss Esperance's costume at the time, so the leading lady couldn't be ruled out. Neither could Evans, as he'd been moving towards Miss Fisher at the time. Jack thought the last of the three was least likely given that his movement had been unexpected. Miss Fisher's statement that she had smelled hyacinths prior to the sandbag's decent (and Evans move) seemed to cement that fact, even if Jack had no notion at present as to why the scent should be there at all.

A sound from the catwalks above him brought him out of his contemplation of motives and intended victims. He moved cautiously in the direction that the noise had come from, wary of potential murder weapons hanging above him. His own footfalls echoed loudly in his ears though he tried to walk quietly, making it difficult to trace other sounds around him. He paused, sure he'd just heard a noise behind the curtain to his right. When he heard it again he moved swiftly around the end of the curtain.

He barely had time to register that the noise maker in question was Miss Fisher before his reflexes kicked in to save him from the heavy board she was swinging. He reached out one hand to stop the blow from landing, grabbing the two by four before it could reach his temple (she had good aim, he'd grant her that), while the other wrapped around her waist, steadying her as the force of her swing brought her off balance.

As they huffed out simultaneous breaths of relief, he realized that she must have heard him in the dark, as he had her, and assumed he was their culprit. He was proved right by her next words.

"Must you sneak around?" Her annoyance was evident in her tone.

"I heard something." His words were half whispered, still partially conscious of a murder on the loose. Most of his mind though was on the reality of having her pressed up against his body, her left side fully molded to his front.

"So did I, in the fly tower." They both looked up, hoping to spot something in among the catwalks and ropes above them. When he looked back down, he couldn't help notice how close her face was to his own. He had a fleeting thought about what would happen if he were to close that distance. He managed to push the inclination back as he filled her in on the case, but didn't let go of her or the board.

"We found the rope for the counterweight." As he spoke, he lowered the board so its tip and most of its weight were resting on the ground. He still didn't let go, not wanting to disturb the moment with the heavy thunk he knew that would cause. Miss Fisher followed his lead, keeping one of her own hands on the two by four even as she brought up the other to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It was frayed all the way around. Looks like an accident."

"A very convenient one." Her voice spoke of her doubt that the sandbag coming down right where she'd been standing and where another man had died less than 24 hours earlier could be a coincidence.

"I agree."

"Did you smell it?" For one insane moment, he thought she was referring to her perfume, which had been filling his senses for the last few moments. Then he remembered what she'd said right after the sanbag had fallen.

"The flowers?"

"It's hyacinths." Her free hand dipped into her pocket and came back up with a small piece of paper, which she held for him to read. Certainly he could have taken it from her himself, but that would have required letting go of either the two by four four or her, neither of which he was eager to do. The thought that she might be as disinterested in breaking their current bodily contact as he was floated through his mind. With some difficulty he forced his focus to the scrap of paper.

He heaved in a heavy breath as he realized what he was looking at. 'You're next'. A definite threat and one written in the same handwriting as the note Copeland had received from the "ghost". He looked back at Miss Fisher, her face still just inches from his own.

"Now I really can't let you out of my sight." His tone was commanding and his hand tightened at her waist. This time, under these circumstances, he wasn't going to let her convince him that she could take care of herself. He had no doubts that she could, but staying vigilant and thinking of every angle at every moment was impossible. So she could talk herself blue in the face for all he cared, he wasn't going give in to her cajoling.

However, she didn't seem to have any intention of even trying to talk her way out of 'police protection'. Quite the opposite in fact. As he'd spoken a small smile had spread across her features and when she replied her own voice was low and husky.

"That seems entirely reasonable, Jack."

His name rolling off her lips and the way her eyes darted down to his mouth before locking on his own was too much for him. He'd been struggling for weeks to ignore the temptation that was Phryne Fisher. Been trying to hold his ground against her flirting with a mental chorus of 'I'm married. I'm married. I'm married.' for most of their association up to this point. He was done trying.

With zero regard for their location or the fact that their killer might be lurking somewhere in the dark above them, he kissed her. Leaned in and pressed his lips hard against hers, his hand on her waist sliding to her back, pulling her more fully against him. She responded in kind, her mouth opening almost immediately against his, enticing him deeper into the embrace. He didn't need the encouragement, his own lips parting with a soft groan as her hand wound into his hair.

Why exactly had he fought against this for so long? It was everything that he'd envisioned kissing her would be, plus a dozen things he'd never anticipated. It was a near overload of his senses. Their tongues met in fierce and seductive caresses that sent jolts of arousal through him. Her fingers laced through his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp, while his hand at her back fisted in the material of her jacket and hauled her completely against him. He raised his other hand to her neck, running his fingers across her pulse point in gentle caresses that were a stark contrast to his mouth, hot and hungry with her own.

He had just felt her own hand come up to grip the throat of his jacket and shirt, the feel of her fingers dipping beneath his collar sending his over taxed senses reeling even further, when a sharp noise at their feet caused them to jump apart.

It took Jack longer than it should have - his mind still focused on her taste and smell and wanting more - to realize that the noise had been the two by four she'd previously aimed at his head falling to the floor. In the heat of the kiss he'd forgotten that he'd even been holding on to it and judging by the slight blush spreading across Phryne's cheeks as she look down at the offending lumber, she had as well.

When she raised her eyes back to his face, his breath caught in his throat and he took a half step back towards her, focused entirely on her panting breaths and the arousal in her dark eyes and intent upon having her back in his arms.

The sound of running steps stopped him before he could cover the distance between them and he reluctantly looked away from her as the noise came closer, trying to smooth his hair back into place and get his breathing under control as he turned. He had barely succeeded, though not enough to hold up to any real scrutiny, when Tarrant, the theatre owner, and one of the dressers, Bradford, came dashing around a set piece towards them.

Nearly two hours later as they stepped together out of the theatre and into the back alley, Jack still wasn't sure whether to be infuriated at the interruption or glad that they'd been stopped before anything more could happen. His memory of the incredible kiss and desire for more of the woman next to him warred with his guilt at having kissed her in the first place.

He had never been one to really consider breaking his vows of marriage. He knew from the job and various friends and acquaintances that infidelity was hardly unusual, especially for a man in his position - he and Rosie hadn't lived in the same house for almost a year and they hadn't been intimate for months leading up to the separation - but a vow was a vow and until the separation became a legal divorce, he wasn't going to ignore that reality. Tempting as it had been since he'd first encountered an infuriating woman in a rose and lavender dress in the upstairs bathroom of the Adams house.

As they took their first steps down the alley way, Jack was torn between wanting to pretend the kiss never happened and wanting to discuss it in depth. On the one hand, they'd been successfully ignoring it for the past two hours and had slid back into their standard investigative rhythm without difficulty. On the other, he wanted to be able to explain to her why it couldn't happen again, as much as he might want it to. Wanted her to understand that he couldn't just ignore 16 years of marriage for whatever she'd give him before casting him aside. He just couldn't, he wasn't that guy.

He wished he knew how she felt about the whole thing. In an effort to get a conversation going and maybe have a chance to feel out her thoughts on the subject, he broke the silence.

"Why go to all the trouble of faking a ghost?"

"It didn't look fake to me." Despite her unshakable facade, he could hear in her voice how much the apparition had bothered her. He pushed past the ghost to the murders themselves, trying to draw her back to their usual camaraderie and banter.

"Well, who stands to benefit? Is it to close down the show? You know how superstitious actors are." He tried to inject some humor to his tone and it seemed to work as her stony mask fell away and was replaced by curiosity. He smiled slightly at his success as she spoke.

"Kill the leads, and you kill the production?"

"It had to be Hansen." He wasn't actually sure of that any more. Killing Copeland made some sense, given the inheritance, but why Evans or whoever the last victim was supposed to be. But he laced his voice with certainty, playing Devil's Advocate to draw her further back to the investigation.

"Even if he killed Copeland for the money," His smile broadened as her words echoed his train of thought. "Why kill Gwilym, and why threaten me?"

He was just about to respond when a figure came around the corner, colliding with Jack. The Inspector pushed the other man back and raised his fists, ready for a fight, but Phryne's voice brought him up short.

"Wait, Jack, I know him."

'Of course, she did.' The thought ripped through his mind before he had a chance to stop it. 'Another one of her parade of lovers.' He knew that he didn't have any claim to her, despite what had happened in the theatre, but that didn't mean he had to like watching her with other men. And he wasn't nearly as ignorant on that front as she might think him. He was sure some of his bitterness entered his tone when he spoke, taking in the well dressed Chinaman standing before them.

"Wrong neighborhood for sneaking about in the shadows." The other man's eyes narrowed at Jack's tone, obviously offended, but Jack couldn't bring himself to care at that moment, and answering in kind.

"I am aware of the neighborhood."

Phryne, perhaps sensing the building tension, spoke up with introductions, "Inspector Robinson. Mr. Lin."

Rather than acknowledging Jack, the other man used the opportunity to turn fully towards Miss Fisher, a smile crossing his features as he spoke, "I was on my way to the theatre in the hope that you would be there." He paused briefly as his eyes swept over her figure, "Perhaps you'd like to join me for supper."

Jack hadn't been sure earlier if he really wanted to have a full discussion with Phryne about what had happened at the theatre, but now he was. Maybe it was just his jealousy driving him on, wanting to make sure that she understood where he stood before she flung herself into the arms of another man, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than for her to refuse the invitation. At least until they could square a few things up themselves.

"Miss Fisher was on her way home." His words were directed at Mr. Lin, but he faced her as he spoke, hoping that she could read in his expression his need to not leave things as they currently stood. She seemed to understand, nodding almost imperceptibly before facing Lin and speaking.

"Thank you, Mr. Lin, but it's been a very trying day. Perhaps some other time."

The other man nodded with a smile, sent a hard glare Jack's way, and then turned back the way he'd come, disappearing around the corner as swiftly as he'd arrived.

They stood in silence for several long moments before he turned and sent a small relieved smile at her. He could read the curiosity in her expression, but she didn't ask as they resumed their walk towards his car down the road. He was glad of the additional time to work through his own thoughts.

He didn't want her to change. He knew that for certain. He understood that the life that she led was one of freedom and making her own choices. That she would never be willing to settle into a traditional lifestyle. But he also knew that her life wasn't nearly as chaotic and unstructured as it appeared on the surface to an uninitiated bystander. She'd become a stability point not just for Jane - whose transformation from street urchin to educated young woman was already well underway, despite the short time period she'd lived under Phryne's roof - but also for the Red Raggers - who had been in police custody for various activities significantly less since they'd entered her sporadic employ. And she'd certainly worked her magic on him as well, steadily drawing him out of the hard shell of no nonsense policeman that he'd been.

As he steadily sorted through the jumble that was his thoughts and feelings for Phryne Fisher, he felt more comfortable with the conversation they were going to have. He still didn't know how things would play out, but it was definitely time to stop hiding from the truth: he had fallen for her.

As they walked slowly along, he felt her fingers brush against his as she matched the swing of her arm to his, keeping them in light contact and he reduced his motion to make it easier. To any bystander it would look like a coincidence, accidental contact, but he knew better. The back of her hand against his, the deliberate syncing of her motions to his, of his to hers, this was a start. The start of what he couldn't say, and nothing more would happen today or tomorrow or until he was free of his previous vows, but, despite that, he was certain that they would figure things out from there.

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 **AN:** Not my favorite work, but I really couldn't bring myself to have her go off with Lin after I'd written the kiss, so it gets a bit stilted at the end, I think. This one was hard. The next one should be better. And they'll all get easier to keep fluffy and unangsty once Jack is divorced. gleeful smile Oh, boy, do I have plans for once Jack is divorced.

 **AN2:** As always, if you have thoughts on things you'd like to see from any episodes. I have a great tool for tracking story outlines and plans for this (called Trello, it's free, try it) so even if your suggestion is for something in season 3, let me know. I'll make sure I record it for future consideration.

 **AN3:** "Plays Many Parts" is from Shakespeare's As You Like It (Act II, Scene VII):

Line 142-156 - **Jaques:** All the world's a stage,  
And all the men and women merely players.  
They have their exits and their entrances,  
And one man in his time plays many parts,  
His acts being seven ages.

 **Meaning:** Jaques is commenting on the reality that throughout our lives each of us will play many different roles with relation to ourselves and the people around us. He believes that these roles can be broken into seven distinct ages and goes on to detail them: the infant, the schoolboy, the lover, the soldier, the judge, the old man, the dotage (second infancy).


	7. 1x7 Shadows Have Offended

**AN:** Episode 1.7 - Murder in Montparnasse

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 **Shadows Have Offended**

Jack paused on the doorstep for a long moment before knocking, the brown paper around the painting in his hand crinkling slightly where it rested against his side. It had been a hard day and he was glad that the case was over. He was also very pleased that Dubois would no longer haunt Phryne, though he knew from his own experiences that just because the cause of the nightmares was gone it didn't mean that the nightmares themselves would go.

He still wasn't entirely clear on what had happened between the two of them in Paris, but it was obvious that there had once been an intimate relationship which had gone horribly wrong. He had never seen her so shaken up by any other event or person. And the way that she had behaved in the cafe, over the very thought of his presence, made Jack extremely glad that the man was now dead. He hated himself a small amount for feeling happy over the death of another human being, but also couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty about that happiness.

Thinking back to the events in the cafe just caused him to pause longer. He knew he should just suck it up and knock already, but so many emotions were coursing through him at that moment that he needed the time to process them. Alongside his hatred of Dubois were also all the emotions that had been brought up when he kissed her in the cafe. Guilt, pride, want, anxiety, and terror all warred against each other. A chaos that had caused a near constant sense of foreboding and a mild stomachache.

Despite all of that, he didn't regret doing it. It had been necessary. He had tried everything else he could think of to keep her distracted from Dubois' imminent arrival. He'd made jokes about escargot, tried to draw her into conversation, and even changed seats with her so she wouldn't be facing the door directly. Nothing had worked and at the exact moment that Dubois had arrived, she'd turned. He'd had a split second to come up with something to distract her, to keep their killer from seeing her. There were probably other things he could have done in that moment with the same result, but the kiss had popped into his head first and he'd gone with it.

It wasn't really surprising that it was the first thing that occurred to him. For the last few months, a small part of his mind had been devoted exclusively to thinking about what it would be like to kiss her. It was the part of his brain that had shouted at him when they had dinner after closing the theatre case and whispered enticingly at him while she posed for mugshots after the Green Hill murder. For the most part, he was able to ignore it, but today...

Whatever the reason, it had been the first thing he thought of and it had worked, distracting her sufficiently until Bert broke all hell loose. It had been necessary, nothing more. He kept repeating that to himself, but it was a complete lie. True it had been necessary, but it had been so much more. Despite the dire situation they had been in at the time, Jack's entire focus at the moment that his lips touched hers was on how incredible it felt to kiss her. And when he felt her respond, when she started to kiss him back - which she had done nearly immediately, his pride reminded him - all he wanted was to never stop kissing her.

He had been drawn back to the reality of where they were and why they were there far too soon for his liking. And ever since, he had been reliving those few seconds when they had been kissing each other. It had been playing over and over in his mind's eye for hours, which is how long the guilt had been building in the pit of his stomach. He had kissed a woman who wasn't his wife and he had enjoyed it far more than any kiss that he had ever shared with Rosie.

He was still staring at her door, he realized with a start. 'Stop being such a coward, Jack Robinson.' He told himself, angry that he was letting something as small as a single kiss stop him. 'Just return her property and be on your way.' As if it had ever been that simple with Phryne Fisher. But as long as she didn't bring up the kiss - and he had limited hope in that regard given her nature - this would be fine. And he'd finally get to see what was in the painting that had caused so much fuss over the last week.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked. In short order the door was opened by Mr. Butler, who greeted him with a smile before taking his coat and gesturing him into the parlor, where he could see Phryne reclining on the chaise with a book. Pushing down the resurgence of the memory of that kiss, he thanked Mr. Butler and watched the older man hang his coat up and move out of the hall towards the kitchen. Hanging his hat with his coat, he turned and moved into the parlor, speaking as he walked towards Phryne, who set her book aside and stood to greet him.

"This is certainly a well traveled work of art." He handed the wrapped package off to Phryne, who grinned brightly as she responded.

"A little like me." He gave her a small smile in return as he took a seat in the chair across from where she was settling on the floor. She started to untie the string holding the brown paper in place, but paused to look up at him, "Thank you for helping to retrieve it."

He could hear in her tone that she was trying to thank him for more than just getting the painting back. It was a blanket thank you for the last week, he knew, for helping Bert and Cec, for letting her once again interfere with a case of his, and for the cafe. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement and a small smile, before forcing his eyes back down to the wrapped painting.

Phryne continued to look at him for several long moments, trying to read him. She hoped that he understood everything that she was not saying. She couldn't thank him enough for not just this last week, but also for the entirety of their association. She knew that he didn't have to let her in to investigations the way he did, didn't have to let her into interrogations or sting missions. She hoped that he knew just how much she appreciated that, how much she was glad of him.

When she didn't get any response beyond his nod and smile, she went back to unwrapping the painting. She watched him through her lashes as she did, her mind going a million different directions as once.

Had he already seen the painting? He certainly wasn't behaving the way should would expect him to if he had, but Jack was extremely good at hiding his thoughts and emotions if he was given some time to prepare, even from her. She thought it was still wrapped as it had been at the cafe, but she'd hardly been in the right state of mind to be paying attention to minute details amongst the chaos.

First, the anxious waiting to see if their sting operation would work to draw Rene in. She'd had to remind herself constantly as her stomach turned over and over that the plan had been her idea. Jack hadn't wanted her to be there. She hadn't told him much of her history with Rene. Every time he'd brought it up, she had spoken instead about the city and Sarcelle and art. Never about the way his intensity and charm had pulled her in, made her feel worldly and decadent and powerful. Or about how easily she'd forgiven him the first time he'd screamed at her and slapped her, believing him when he said he was sorry and that it was just because he cared so much about her. And she certainly hadn't breathed a word to Jack about how stupid she felt, even so many years later, for how long it took her to face the truth of his possessiveness and abuse and leave. She hadn't told him any of it, but Jack wasn't an idiot. Her behavior at the cafe as they waited gave away everything he could possibly have needed to know and he hadn't pressed her for details. Wonderful Jack hadn't asked a single question about who Rene had once been to her, had instead made jokes, tried to sooth her nerves with idle conversation, made every effort to distract her from the part of her past she was about to confront.

And distract her he had. Even if she had been able to maintain her observational skills and keep a cool head through the nervousness coursing through her, she certainly won't have managed through that kiss. She did so like it when a man took command of a situation. And to do so like Jack had, his hand grabbing the back of her head and pulling her into his embrace, his lips on hers before she'd even begun to contemplate what was happening. And, oh, what a kiss. His lips had been soft, but demanding and she'd responded immediately, her eyes sliding shut and her lips parting slightly in invitation. He had pulled away far too quickly for her liking and the intense desire in his eyes after had her desperately wanting more, not a single thought geared towards the situation with Rene. Then his eyes had moved to look over her shoulder and she'd been reminded of the exact where, why, and how of their present position.

And then Bert. And all hell breaking loose. Being held hostage briefly by Rene and the terror that she'd seen on Jack's face as the gun was held to her temple. Finally getting a chance to stand her ground against him, to let go of the fear that he had long since imparted. Rene's death at the hands of the woman whose husband he'd cold heartedly murdered so many years previous. In all of that - anxiety, kiss, chaos, death - it was no surprise that she hadn't paid much mind to the painting that had caused a decade's worth of trouble.

As she pulled the last knot free and began to pull the paper away, she kept her eyes on Jack. He'd shocked her with that kiss, now it was her turn to shock him, she hoped. This wouldn't be nearly as much fun if he'd already seen it and had time to prepare for her unveiling. As she pulled the first fold away from the piece she'd posed for all those years ago, she was glad to see that it was facing towards him. She wanted this to have the maximum impact possible.

She flipped the final paper off the painting and looked up to watch Jack's reaction properly. His eyes were glued to the art and she watched his Adam's apple bounce in his throat as he gulped deeply. She tried to keep the grin she was feeling off her face though it became easier to do the longer he stared at her nude form laid out before him in oils. This wasn't the blushing, stammering reaction she expected from him. The intensity of his focus was incredibly arousing and she found that instead of discombobulating him as she had planned, he was doing so to her. When his eyes moved to her face, she tried to regain the upper hand.

"You're blushing." She was pleased that her words came out in such a steady tone. It certainly wasn't how she was feeling at that moment.

Despite the fact that he was looking directly at her as she spoke, it took Jack a moment to take in her statement through the haze of desire that had completely filled him. That painting! For months he had been struggling to keep his thoughts and feelings for Phryne Fisher platonic and wholesome, but the moment that the paper was off the painting he knew that he was never going to be able to get the image out of his mind. And to know that it was an image that hung on the wall of her bedroom just made it worse.

As he finally recovered enough brain power to do more than just stare at her and wonder how good the representation actually was, he managed to parse her words. A small amount of anger coursed through him. She was enjoying this, liking her ability to throw him off. She was keeping her smile off her face, but he could hear it in her voice. There was something else in her voice as well and it took him a long moment to figure out what it was: desire. She was just as affected by his interest in the painting as he was by the painting itself. He wished he hadn't realized that. It was just going to make getting out of here without embarrassing himself that much harder. He decided to address her words directly and ignore everything else.

"I'm a grown man, Miss Fisher." Her title helped him put a bit of mental distance between them. Helped remind him that she wasn't married, but he was. "I'm not about to blush at the sight of a little bare flesh." His voice was thicker than he would like, but otherwise steady. He made a conscious effort not to look back at the painting, trying to hold his own in whatever game she was trying to play with him.

"That's what surprises me, Detective Inspector."

'Did she have to say his title like that?' Jack groaned internally, 'All husky and seductive and made to drive him crazy?' He had used her title to put some distance between them, but she was using his in a way that made him want to close every inch of distance separating their bodies as quickly as possible. She continued speaking.

"In fact, lately, you're full of surprises."

All he could do was stare into her eyes for several long moments. Again anger and desire battled within him. After already messing with his head by unwrapping that painting, now she was bringing up the kiss? Couldn't she leave well enough alone, just once? With a start, Jack realized that, no she couldn't. This was who Phryne Fisher was and this was how she behaved with the various men in her life.

And just like that the desire that he'd been feeling ever since he'd kissed her, longer actually, if he were honest with himself, was pushed to the back of his emotional line up. Instead anger and humiliation burned hot. He berated himself for a long moment for not understanding earlier that he was just one in a long string of men that she played with and then cast aside; for being stupid enough to believe that she might actually see him as something more than that. He had begun to think of her as a very close friend. A complicated one to be sure, but a dear and important one all the same. He had thought she held him in the same regard, but the sly smile on her face and the throaty tone of her last comment made it pretty clear to him that she cared nothing for how he was feeling in all of this, how difficult the entire situation was for him. She just wanted her little game.

A few short moments ago he had wanted to make a quick exit to get away from the incredible temptation that the Honorable Phryne Fisher presented, now he wanted out for completely different reasons. Anger boiled away inside him, most of it directed at himself. She was just being Phryne. He'd known who she was from early on in their association so he couldn't lay much blame on her for that. He on the other hand had been a fool to believe that they had an understanding and friendship.

"It's all part of the job."

His response was clipped and a very small amount of his anger bled into the words. She heard it all the same and the smile that had been playing across her features vanished. Just moments ago they'd been having a playful and flirty conversation, she'd seen the want in his eyes, knew her own echoed it. What had happened? Before she could come up with an answer, he was standing.

"I have to get back to the station."

He wasn't looking at her anymore. Even though he was looking in her direction as he spoke, she could see that he wasn't actually looking AT her. His eyes held the same anger that she'd heard in his voice, but just as his eyes weren't actually on her, she thought the anger wasn't either. And there were other emotions she couldn't immediately identify present in his features as well.

She stood, unsure what to do next. She didn't want him to leave, had looked forward to spending time with him, enjoying a nightcap and good conversation for an hour or so. As she tried to assess what had happened, she studied his expression closely. With a start she identified the other emotions on his face: the slight reddening in his cheeks, the furrow of his brow, the pursed lips. Guilt and hurt and anger. With a start, she understood and shame filled her.

She'd been playing with him, knowing that he wanted her, knowing that while he hadn't used their situation in the cafe as an excuse to kiss her, she had all but accused him of exactly that. She had treated him the way she would one of her one night dalliances. But he was so much more than that to her. She didn't know when Jack Robinson had become so important to her, but she knew he was. Yes, she wanted him in her bed, but he wasn't some plaything to be booted out the next morning and never seen again. He wasn't that kind of man and she didn't want him to be. And with another start, she realized where the guilt on his expression came from. He wasn't the kind of man to handle sex as a non-commitment one off. The exact opposite, she suddenly remembered. He was married.

He was a married man and had made it very clear that while it wasn't a happy marriage, he had no intention of breaking those vows.

'How could you have been so stupid and thoughtless, Phryne.' She thought to herself as she tried to come up with something, anything, that could make things better in that moment. Her efforts were brought to a screeching halt as he turned away from her and started toward the hall.

"Excuse me." Again, his tone was clipped. He moved swiftly into the hall, her moving behind him, still wracking her brain for a peace offering of some kind. He collected his hat and coat without so much as a glance her direction and was reaching for the door without putting either on.

"Jack." Her tone stopped him as he reached for the door handle. "I'm sorry." He turned his head slightly her direction, still not completely looking at her, but at least he was no longer leaving. She wasn't used to apologizing for her sexuality, or really for anything, but she knew she was in the wrong this time and she needed him to know that she was aware of that. If only he would look at her. Jack had always been so good at reading her expression. "I didn't mean to…" She trailed off, not sure how to phrase what she had done or how to explain that it hadn't been on purpose, not really.

Finally, he turned to look at her. His expression still held anger and hurt, but the guilt was easing off and as he took in her face, her mouth downturned in a frown, he could feel the anger bleeding away, too. He could see the guilt in her own expression, heavy and over riding nearly every other emotion.

For one wild moment, he wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her head and whisper that it would be okay, that they were fine. It was true, he realized, despite the night's events and the various emotional swings, they would be okay. But that desire, to hug away the fight, wasn't one of fixing a friendship, it was one that belong to intimate relationships, to couples. As much as he might want to hug her tight against him and lay comforting kisses against her temple, that wasn't who they were.

Instead he had to be satisfied at giving her a small smile and nod, locking eyes with her until he was sure that she understood that her apology was accepted and that they would continue on as they had for months: as partners against crime and friends. She smiled in response and some of the tension left her shoulders.

"Goodnight, Jack."

"Goodnight, Phryne."

And then he was gone, opening the door and moving out into the night. As she closed the door behind him, she let out a shuddering breath. They were okay, despite her blunders, but she would have to work hard to keep from doing that to him again. Flirting was one thing, but active seduction was off the table. Standing in her hallway, staring at the closed door, she made that promise to herself. Jack was too important, too dear to her for her to be so careless with his feelings.

With a nod to herself, she walked back into the parlor.

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 **AN:** Since there was already a kiss in this episode that was barely addressed, I decided rather than inserting another, I would just play with the repercussions of the one already there a bit and sort of change up the emotions of the moment. Let me know what you guys think. Please.

 **AN2:** "Shadows Have Offended" is from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream (Act V, Scene I):

Line 366-372 - **Puck:** If we shadows have offended,  
Think but this, and all is mended-  
That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear.  
And this weak and idle theme,  
No more yielding but a dream,  
Gentles, do not reprehend.

 **Meaning:** This is the beginning of the final speech of the play and Puck is speaking directly to the audience as an epilogue of sorts. He's asking that if the audience didn't like the play, that they should just shrug it off as one would a dream, rather than take any offense.


	8. 1x8 Never Did Run Smooth

**AN:** Episode 1.8 - Away With the Fairies

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 **Never Did Run Smooth**

When Phryne entered the office of the recently deceased Marcella Lavender for the second time that morning, she was glad to find Jack facing away from her, flipping through some files. It gave her the opportunity to study him unobserved for a moment.

The earlier moment in this office, standing over the body, was the first time she'd seen him in two days. Since he'd fled her house after he'd returned the stolen Sarcelle. Two days since he'd kissed her in Cafe Replique and she was still trying to figure out how she felt about it. She had certainly thought about kissing Jack Robinson more than once since she met him months ago, but to have him grab her and lay one on her in that way? It had shaken her in a way she didn't expect.

At the time she hadn't thought twice before kissing him back, despite the situation that they were in at the time. But ever since, she had thought of little else. It had been a really great kiss, if a little short for her liking. And the fact that he had taken control of the situation in that way, that was just a wonderful bonus. She did so love when a man didn't beat around the bush about these things.

But just because she had enjoyed the kiss didn't mean that it had been a good idea. As cavalierly as she appeared to approach life she was aware that her working relationship with Detective Inspector Robinson was too important to put on the line for a night or two of pleasure. She wasn't going to throw away that friendship and partnership over a single kiss.

Now she just had to make sure that he wasn't going to let that one event get in the way of their investigating. Certainly the way he'd looked at her as they stood over Miss Lavender's body had not been promising in that regard. He had looked terrified to see her, eyes wide and breath coming in short puffs. Would he be okay continuing to work with her? As she watched him rifle through papers, she decided she might as well find out immediately. She hopped silently up onto the workbench in the center of the room before speaking.

"Now, tell me, Jack, does that new furrow in your brow have anything to do with kissing me the other night?"

Phryne's voice behind him didn't really surprise him. He knew that she would be unable to leave this case alone, especially as she seemed to have a personal connection to the magazine editor. He wasn't even surprised that she was starting their first conversation in two days with mention of that kiss, as much as he wished she would just leave it alone.

That kiss had occupied more than a few of his thoughts since that day. Not surprising. It had been more than a year since he'd had any kind of intimate contact - more than a year since his wife walked out - and he'd found himself unwillingly attracted to the Lady Detective since nearly their first meeting. But when he had reached out to pull her lips to his it had truly been nothing more, at that moment, than keeping her from blowing their entire operation with a single glance in Dubois' direction.

And then she'd been kissing him back and what he had thought was just a physical attraction began to feel like more. He still wasn't entirely sure how far his feelings for her had gone without him realizing it, but he was absolutely sure that those feelings existed, feelings that went beyond friendship and lust. Not that it mattered, really. He was married and she treated the men in her bed as mere pleasant dalliances, something that he would never be comfortable with being, no matter how enticing she might be. Now all that mattered was getting a handle on his emotions and making every effort to make sure that they didn't go any further than they already had. He was sure that it would be all too easy for him to fall for her, if he let himself.

So, as much as he really didn't want to discuss the kiss, as much as he wished they could just jump straight into investigating the dead woman, he knew that she wouldn't give him that choice. All he could do was play it off as the distracting maneuver it had originally been meant as. He turned to face her.

"I didn't kiss you." His voice was steady as he strode over to where she sat on the table. "I was trying to protect you."

He wasn't sure if the smile that stretched across her face, the way she cocked her head slightly to one side, and her raised eyebrow were more about his denial of a simple fact or merely a sign that she didn't believe that it was just about protecting her.

"You were looking a gunman in the eye," his voice less calm now and he knew she'd read his desire to not be having this conversation in it, but he pressed on, "and I had to distract you."

Her smile grew as she leaned in closer to him so that only a few inches separated them.

"All in the line of duty?"

There was a faint hint of laughter in her voice now and he could see the challenge in her eyes. She was daring him, trying to see how rigidly he'd stick to his story.

He was tired of her teasing him, always one upping him in the flirtatious game they had been playing for months now, and eager to wipe that victorious grin off her features. He knew it was a bad idea, but her teasing had pushed him too far this time. He leaned in, covering the last inches between them and pressed his lips to her for the second time.

It was only the briefest meeting of lips. He pulled back after just seconds, not allowing himself any time to actually feel the kiss or let her respond. He felt her quick intake of breath just before his lips connected with her own and he felt a swell of pride at being able to surprise her. She obviously hadn't expected him to take on her challenge.

Pulling back to a safe distance, putting nearly a foot between them, he raised his eyebrows at her, as he spoke.

"See, just a kiss."

He turned away from her, moving back to the paperwork he'd been sorting through when she entered. When he was no longer facing her, he allowed the massive smile he was feeling to play on his face. He'd finally managed to shock her for once. It was so frequently the other way around.

Phryne gaped at his back as he walked back to the desk in the corner. She couldn't believe he'd done that. Over the months of knowing each other, he had never given in to one of her challenges, never been willing to give in to her teasing and flirting. She wished he hadn't this time.

It wasn't that he'd one upped her with that unexpected meeting of mouths, though that certainly annoyed her. It was that, just like in Cafe Replique, his short kiss had rocked her in unexpected ways. In just a few seconds he had managed to set butterflies loose in her stomach in a way that had little to do with lust.

Her contemplation of her feelings following his second kiss were interrupted by his voice.

"Why are you here?" He turned as he asked, looking her in the eye.

Shaking off her contemplation of what exactly she was now feeling, she hopped off the table. She could deal with those emotions later. Right now she had a murder to solve and a manuscript to locate. Giving him her usual flirtatious smile, she walked around the table, idly flipping through a few pages on it's surface as she answered.

"I need a favor for Miss Charlesworth."

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 **AN:** "Never Did Run Smooth" is from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream (Act I, Scene I):

Line 132-134 - **Lysander:** Ay, me! For aught that I could ever read,  
Could ever hear by tale or history,  
The course of true love never did run smooth.

 **Meaning:** Lysander is trying to comfort Hermia, his love, by telling her that stories always say that true love has to face obstacles, has to overcome before there can be a happy ending.


	9. 1x9 By Any Other Name

**AN:** I'm sorry that this chapter is a tad delayed. I spent last week moving and then when I did finally have time to write something, I got most of the way through the chapter before my computer crashed. And crashed bad. Despite a tendency to hit the save button regularly, my computer did not have any of the most recent "saves", so I practically had to restart from the beginning. Which sucked and I don't feel that this rewrite is as good as the first one that I did. Sigh.

 **AN2:** Episode 1.9 - Queen of the Flowers

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 **By Any Other Name**

Jack had never been good at dealing with crying women. He was surprised that any man could claim to be, given how differently each woman reacted when in tears.

His mother had cried very rarely. At funerals she would let loose silent tears while his father held her hand, comforting her with his presence. She had cried big, happy tears at his sister's wedding, but had shed none at his own. At the time he had assumed that was because seeing a son wed was very different than seeing a daughter go down the aisle. Looking back, he knows differently. His mother had never been overly fond of Rosie, disliking her ambition and desire for lavishness. The only other times he had known her to cry had been extremely rare and even in those moments, she would only allow herself a second or two before pushing it down and moving on.

His sister had been a dynamic opposite, crying frequently and loudly, especially as a teenager. As her older brother, Jack had made numerous efforts to comfort her, but more often than not her woes in those days had been caused by the various boys of the neighborhood, some even Jack's close friends, and she would push away his comfort and protectiveness with mutters or screams that he was 'one of them.'

And then Rosie. She had also cried often, sometimes at the most seemingly insignificant things. It had always torn so heavily at his heart and he had tried desperately to comfort her. His efforts had usually been for nothing, as they had never been the comfort that she wanted at that moment. If he hugged her and whispered that it would be okay, she pushed him away, telling him that she could take care of herself, that he needed to stop clinging. If he gave her space, she would cry harder and accuse him of not caring about her feelings. There had been no knowing what she wanted or how he should react.

Such differing reactions, varying so widely that they had given him little preparation for coping with the sobbing woman currently in his arms.

She had come into his office 20 minutes earlier. When he'd seen her enter the station, he'd hoped that she came bearing information that might help them with their current case. Instead, with a hoarse voice and pleading eyes, she had asked him for a favor.

"I need you to look into Anna Ross." She had not been crying then, but as she threw herself down in the chair opposite him, he could see the distress on her features. Her expression was one that he could only describe as utterly destroyed.

"Jane's mother? I thought she was dead." As he spoke, Phryne rose and began pacing the room, striding frenetically back and forth between his desk and the door, which he was now very glad she'd closed behind her.

"Apparently not. It had never really been a sure thing anyways." Her pacing didn't stop as she answered, her words fast and breathless. He stood carefully, wanting to be on his feet should her frantic movement and apparent lack of air intake take it's toll. "We were never able to find a death certificate. Jane was reasonably certain, but…"

She trailed off and stopped in her pacing to face him before continuing.

"She showed up at my house this morning. She'd seen Jane's picture in the paper and had read that she was my ward."

Jack tried to keep the heavy concern he was suddenly feeling off his features as he took several steps around his desk and towards her, knowing that his worry would do nothing to help her own emotional state. He could see the barely restrained tears shining in her eyes.

"She says she's back on her feet. That she didn't go to Welfare about Jane because she doesn't trust them." She paused for a short moment, taking several deep breaths before continuing. "I don't blame her for that, they hardly have a good track record where Jane is concerned."

She began pacing again.

Jack nodded his understanding, his eyes tracing her movement. It had been down to Welfare that Jane had ended up with that charlatan Merton when they first encountered the young girl.

There was silence, apart from the repetitive clicking of her heels on the floor, in the office for a long moment. It was broken as she once again stopped, this time directly in front of him. She locked eyes with him as she spoke.

"What if she takes Jane away?"

And then the tears began to fall. Despite knowing how distraught she had been, the breakdown was still unexpected. Not because the situation didn't warrant tears - it most certainly did - but because in all the time that he'd known The Honorable Phryne Fisher and through all the cases and tough scrapes they'd had, he'd never previously seen her shed a tear.

So despite the fact that he's never been good at dealing with crying women, his next actions seemed the most natural thing in the world. He raised his arms slowly, so as not to startle her, his hands gripping her upper arms gently as he pulled her into him. Her own hands went immediately around his waist to grip the back of his jacket as she laid her head against her shoulder and sobbed in earnest. He rubbed slow circles on her back, while his other hand rested against the back of her neck, holding her gently in his embrace.

As he whispered half formed thoughts into her hair - telling her that it would be okay, that he's there for her, that of course he'll check out Jane's mother for her - Jack took the moment to really consider the woman in his arms and the presence that she had come to have in his life.

After the war, and the police strikes, and the disintegrating state of his marriage, he had begun to think of himself as dead and cold inside. He went through the motions of daily life: get up, clean, dress, go to work, go home, eat dinner, sleep, repeat the next day. There had been no joy or anticipation. Merely the day to day repetitive motions.

And then Phryne.

She had burst into his life, full of zeal and passion and an undeniable charm. And she had managed to reawaken those emotions in himself as well. He hadn't even noticed at first, but it hadn't been long before he realized that somehow he was no longer just going through the motions. That he was getting up in the morning with hope for each new day. Dressing with purpose. Doing his job not because it was his job, but because he had remembered what had driven him to law enforcement in the first place: desire to find justice for those who couldn't find it themselves and drive to truly make the world a better place.

It had only been much later that he'd been willing to admit that those changes had been down to her or willing to acknowledge that part of what got him out of bed each day was the thought and anticipation of seeing her. The very idea terrified him so he pushed it away, unwilling to admit that she had become such a fundamentally important part of his life.

He'd finally had to stop living in denial when, sitting in a cafe waiting for a murderer, he'd kissed her. And she had kissed him back. It scared him. She scared him. There are a great many things that frightened him about Phryne Fisher, but the feelings that she brought out in him were the hardest to deal with. The passion for the job, his joy in the simple things - like a good book or a sunny day - those things he could deal with and be glad of her for helping him rediscover. The want and lust were harder to cope with.

Even in that moment, when he mostly just wanted to comfort her and help make everything alright, he couldn't deny that a part of him was relishing the feel of her pressed against his body. Even in grief, he is tempted by her. And that also terrified him. Because through everything - war and death and distance - he had always believed that he was a good man. But a good man, a married man, should not be so tempted to break every vow he made to the woman he'd married.

He mentally shook off the fear and the lust, forcing his mind back on the sobbing woman who came to him for help. Her sobs had been slowly subsiding, but he could feel the damp patch on his shoulder where tears had seeped through the fabric of his jacket and shirt and he rubbed her back a bit more firmly, hoping that his words and touch could comfort her worries.

After several long minutes, her crying stopped altogether, the tremors in her shoulders easing until she stood motionless in his embrace. He began to pull away, ready to accept whatever witticism she would use to laugh off her breakdown, but was stopped by her hands tightening against his back.

"Not yet." Her voice was a whisper, hoarse from crying, but still firm in her request.

Shock shot through him. In more than 35 years of life, 16 of them married, he'd never had anyone so directly ask for the comfort they needed. Even in times when it had been obvious that Rosie had wanted a specific reaction from him, she'd never just come out and said so. He had always just been expected to read her mind and know what she needed in that moment.

A brief smile blossomed on his face as he pulled her back against him, happily acquiescing to her request. Phryne Fisher would never cease to amaze him. Never stop defying all of his expectations. He continued to hold her, both hands now around her back and his face pressed into her cap of black hair, until she moved.

Keeping his reluctance off his face, he loosened his hold on her, allowing her to pull back slightly. She didn't go far, staying within the circle of his arms as she stared at his chest, apparently not yet willing to look him in the eye.

He took the opportunity to study her features, taking in her puffy eyes and smudged make-up. She was still so beautiful, maybe even more so, he thought briefly, for having been willing to expose her vulnerability to him. For trusting him with those unguarded moments.

"Thank you, Jack." Her voice was rough as she finally looked up at his face.

He could hear the longing in her tone, her fears about Jane momentarily pushed away in the face of her desire. His want, which he had tried to push away as he held her, was reflected in her eyes and every ounce of his self control was tested as he watched her eyes dart down to his mouth. They lingered a moment before returning to his eyes.

'God, I want her.' It was a thought that he had gotten used to experiencing over the last few months, but it had never been stronger than it was at that second. His eyes darkened as he considered the potential of leaning down and press his lips strongly against hers, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth, pushing her back and hoisting her to sit on his desk.

For what felt like an eternity, his want waged a desperate war with his honor and conscience. In the end, his conscience won the battle. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths to calm his raging libido. When he opened them, he once again locked gazes with her.

Offering her a small, sad smile, he leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead, allowing them to linger on her skin for far longer than was wise or reasonable. When he pulled back, her face was contorted in confusion.

Stepping completely away from her, her arms dropping to her sides as he pulled his own away, he willed her to understand. He hoped that she could read the apology in his expression, could sense his reluctance. When a smile pulled slightly at her lips, he knew she had done exactly that.

"You're welcome, Miss Fisher." His voice was rough with the desire he still felt, but tempered with a strong resolve.

She nodded her acknowledgement before putting further distance between them, moving to seat herself in the chair by his desk. He took another deep breath before turning away to circle the desk and retake his own seat.

Desperate for something to break the tension that had built so strongly around them, he returned to the earlier subject of conversation, glad for the distraction.

"I can certainly look into Miss Ross and her activities since Jane was originally turned over to Welfare." He gave her a smile. "We'll sort this out, Phryne."

She returned the smile, stood, and walked out, leaving him to contemplate the events that had brought them to this point. And the realities that were currently keeping them from going forward.

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 **AN:** "By Any Other Name" is from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II):

Line 38-45 - **Juliet:** 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.  
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.  
What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,  
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!  
What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.  
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called

 **Meaning:** Juliet is saying that things are not defined by what we choose to call them, but rather by their nature. So if we chose to call a rose something else, that other name doesn't change that which makes it a rose. She insists that this is true for people as well. Romeo is still the man she loves, even if he were to be called something else, as she wishes he were since the Montagues are enemies to her family.


	10. 1x10 Strange Bedfellows

**AN:** So sorry for the delay on this everyone, it's been a crazy few weeks for me. This probably needs a bit of editing still (spelling, grammar, etc.), but I'm swamped for the rest of the evening and I didn't want you guys to have to wait any longer for it. I'll do an edit tomorrow and fix things. In the meantime, try not to be too harsh on that stuff at the moment. Thanks!

 **AN2:** Episode 1.10 - Death By Miss Adventure

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 **Strange Bedfellows**

Every other night that he had stood in this room with her - enjoying a nightcap, going over case details, just talking - he'd felt guilty about it.

Guilty about wanting this woman so much. Guilty about feeling for her in a way he never had for his wife. Guilty about the closed off man he'd been in his marriage and for Phryne's part in pulling him out of himself.

Tonight, he still felt guilty. But the feeling was less. It didn't tear at him as much. Tonight he could be here, with her, without feeling like he should be somewhere else, with someone else.

Two days earlier he'd officially filed for divorce. He'd put it off for a long time, the guilt at failing Rosie, at failing their marriage, stopping him each time that he reached for the phone to call his solicitor. Two days ago had been the one year anniversary of Rosie walking out of his house and never coming back. He had tried to reach out in the early days of the separation, tried to fix things, but he couldn't change who the war had turned him into. And months later, when he started to feel himself once again becoming the man he had been before the war, it had felt too late to fix things. Every conversation with Rosie had been a struggle not to end up in an argument, every meeting tense and usually ending with her throwing his failure in his face. It had been over a month since she'd even spoken with him. Calls to her sister's home went unreturned, letters unanswered. When he'd noticed the date two days earlier, he'd finally given up.

He'd called his lawyer and had papers drawn up. Rosie hadn't signed them yet, but he didn't doubt that she would. He suspected from her behavior that she'd wanted this for a while, maybe since the day she'd walked out, but had been unwilling to start the process herself, wanting to hold on to her moral high ground to the very end, with him the failing party in the marriage.

So tonight, standing in Phryne Fisher's parlor, waiting for her to come down and join him he didn't feel guilty. Not the way he had done during their association to this point. It felt good not to have that weight hanging over him. He briefly felt guilty for feeling good about ending his marriage, but he shook it off as he heard the lady of the house exchange a greeting in the hallway with Mr. Butler. He wouldn't dwell on the past, on his failures, anymore. It was time to start thinking of the future.

The smile that had spread across his face as he heard her descend from upstairs fell away as she entered the room. She looked troubled, her mouth set in a tense frown and her shoulders hunched slightly as though staying upright and mobile had become a battle.

He took a silent step towards her, forfeiting the warmth of the fireplace he had been leaning against. His eyes questioned her, their warm depths full of concern and worry. His mind raced through the various possible causes of that expression, starting with the phone call he'd received earlier and ending with the outcome of the murder investigation that worked the last few days. She read his expression easily, as she always had, and gave him a humorless smile as she waved him back to his place by the hearth. It was only as she was pulling a chair around to join him in front of the fire that he noticed that paper she clutched in her hand.

As she perched herself on the edge of the chair, he watched her closely, silent in his study of the woman before him as she herself seemed to study the flames. He knew her well enough to know that she would speak when she was ready and any attempt to push her for answers before that would be pointless.

After several long moments, she turned her face away from the fire to look up at him. She didn't say anything, apparently content to survey him in silence. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him like that. Did she see the awe he held her in or the want that he tried so hard to keep hidden or the concern for her well being that he didn't feel he should voice? He wasn't sure, but as their eyes stayed locked in those silent minutes (or maybe it was only seconds, he couldn't be sure), he recognized several emotions in her own features. Her initial weariness gave way to a mild guilt then to a wry smile. By the time she moved again, her expression had taken on a calm that certainly had not been present when she entered the room.

He was disappointed when she broke their eye contact to look down at the paper in her hand, but brushed the emotion quickly aside when she moved her arm to hand him the letter. He took it slowly, cautiously, wanting to give her a chance to change her mind about sharing whatever was in it with him. She released it without reluctance and went back to studying the flames as he bent his head and began to read.

'Miss Fisher, I realize you have taken steps to ensure I remain at His Majesty's pleasure indefinitely.'

His eyes swept to the bottom of the page after reading the first sentence and he felt his stomach clench sickeningly at the signature.

'Yours, Murdoch Foyle.'

He glanced at Phryne for a short second, noting that her hunched posture had not changed before he returned his eyes to the letter and started over at the top.

'Miss Fisher, I realize you have taken steps to ensure I remain at His Majesty's pleasure indefinitely. We did not end our last meeting on the best of terms, but I write in the hope that you will agree to meet with me. You want the truth, above all else, and I want my freedom. So I have a proposition that may be of mutual advantage. Yours, Murdoch Foyle.'

He continued to stare at the page in his hand for several long moments as he attempted to process what he had read. His mind was racing. This certainly explained the telephone call he'd received earlier, but had Foyle really asked for what it sounded like he was asking? While he was staggered and horrified by that idea, he also couldn't help the surge of pride that went through him at the realization that Phryne must have pulled some serious strings with some serious people if Foyle was crediting her with keeping him in jail or the ability to get him out again.

When he finally felt like he had processed the major relevancies, he looked up fully at her. He was startled to find her looking directly at him, no longer immersed in her study of the fire as she had been. Her eyes were guarded in a way that he had rarely seen since they first started working together, clearly concerned about what he might think of her or the actions she might already have taken. It was that worry that broke him from his silence.

"I'm not going to ask what you plan to do, because I already know." He didn't smile as he spoke, but his words and the ruefulness of his tone dispelled some of the tension in her shoulders. She answered in a tone of mild disbelief.

"How?"

"I had a telephone call this afternoon from the governor of city jail." He tried to keep his voice even, but he suspected that some of his satisfaction at getting one step ahead of her probably came through all the same.

The mild impudence in her responding tone told him that she'd her the bit of pride that made it into his words, "You are well connected."

"He told me you paid Murdoch Foyle a visit." All humor had gone from his voice, but he kept his expression open. He didn't want her to believe for even a second that he was condemning her for that action. If anything he considered her incredibly brave for facing that monster.

She must have understood what he wasn't saying and he watched some of the tension leave her shoulders. The weariness and sorrow stayed, but she no longer seemed to be expecting him to scold her.

"He offered me a deal. Information about Janey's death."

"In exchange for?" He was sure he already knew, but needed her to say it out loud.

"Securing his release."

And there it was. A monster blackmailing the family of his victim. Jack felt the rage swell in him, but tamped it down tightly, not wanting his anger to keep her from this conversation. A conversation it was obvious she needed to have with someone. He was glad she was trusting him to be that person. At the same time he was concerned about how much she might be considering the option. He'd always been good at reading Phryne Fisher's moods and expressions, but at that moment he honestly couldn't tell whether she was seriously thinking about helping that man go free.

He tested the waters, trying to gauge where her mind was at. "I hope you're not asking for my help."

"But I am."

In the moment between her uttering those words and her next, Jack's heart seemed to stop. Was she really asking him to help her break a kidnapper and suspected murderer out of jail? Or would he merely be asked to write a bogus recommendation on behalf of the imprisoned man? Before he could really run through the possibilities, she was speaking again, her words full of all of the emotion he'd watched her trying to hold back since she first entered the room.

"Tell me not to place myself above the law, not to let a killer loose because I want the truth." Her voice was slightly breathless as she stood. As she took a half step towards him, she continued, "Tell me there's a greater good than my need to know."

A small, wry smile slipped across his features. In two sentences, she had put an instant halt to his run through of worst-case scenarios. She wasn't asking him to help her break the hall or go down a moral rabbit hole. She wasn't asking him to keep her from doing those things. His heart raced as he took in her expression, a painful mixture or despair and hope that made him want to hold her, to somehow push away her anguish. Instead he fell back to the flirtatious sarcasm that defined so much of their interactions.

"You never listen to me anyway."

She huffed out a small laugh and a smile broke across her face for the first time that evening. "Humor me."

"You know what to do." He knew what she wanted to hear. Knew she wanted him to make the decision so she wouldn't have to, but he couldn't do that. She had trusted him immeasurably tonight. Trusted that he would hear her out, would help her through an impossible situation. And in return he could do nothing less than prove his trust in her. He didn't need to tell her what the appropriate thing to do was, didn't need to make a choice that she had already made for herself.

He kept his eyes locked on hers, watching as emotions flared and vanished in split seconds. Moments that felt like hours later, her shoulders sagged a fraction as she released the breath that she had been holding. They continued to stare at one another for instant and then she was looking away, her eyes moving to the letter still in his hand.

Reaching out a hand, she took the paper from him, her fingers brushing his as she did so. He continued to watch her face, studying the beautiful woman before him as she stared at the pages, knowing how difficult the next step would be for her, trying to figure out if there was some way he could help.

She looked up at him briefly from beneath her lashes and he wondered for a moment what she saw in his expression in that moment. He hoped she could see his support, his trust in her, even his love for her. Her eyes left his face as she crouched down towards the flames and after just a brief pause she was reaching into the fireplace to light a corner of the letter. It caught immediately. She released it and stood to watch it burn. As the paper crumbled to ash before her eyes, a great weight seemed to leave her and he watched as she relaxed into the moment.

As she continued to stare into the flames, he contemplated the woman before him and his mind went back to his thoughts earlier.

When he had arrived at Wardlow earlier, he had every intention of telling her about his pending divorce. He wondered now if he still should. It had been a trying few days for her on multiple levels. Was it really the right time to be dropping one more thing on her? So soon after she'd just moved past a major decision and battle of conscience?

He knew that there was no way to tell her as a passing comment. That wouldn't have worked even without the heavy topic of Foyle and her sister's death hanging over them. She knew him too well, could read him too easily. Once he told her, it would be out there. They'd have to find a way to either ignore the implications and continue on as they always had or to sort through them.

On the other hand, given the huge trust that she had just placed in him - the significance of her opening up to him and asking for his help - perhaps it was the perfect time to tell her.

Before he could finish assessing the pros and cons of each option, she was turning away from the fire to look at him. Their eyes locked and he was startled by the intensity of her gaze on his. Just as he was about to speak - to tell her about filing the papers - she was moving again. Her hand reached up and brushed gently across his cheek before she wrapped it around his neck and stepped into him, her lips pressing against his before he could fully understand her intentions.

It didn't take him long to catch up though. Her lips were soft against his and he tilted his head to grant them further access. He watched as her eyes slipped closed before shutting his own, immersing himself completely in the feel of kissing Phryne Fisher. It was exactly how he'd always imagined as his hands drifted up to wrap around her back, pulling her further into him. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue slowly along the seam of her lips, gratified when she opened immediately to him with a small moan. The hand at his neck drifted up into his hair and he groaned as she scratched gently against his scalp. Her other hand was at his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his jacket as their tongues tangled together.

Phryne ended the kiss reluctantly long moments later, her hands drifting to his chest as she pulled her body away from him. He sighed as she pulled away, but didn't try to stop her. He opened his eyes and met her gaze as she took a small step away from him, her hands dropping to her sides as she did so. He tried not to grin in pride as he took in her appearance. Her lips were swollen from their kisses and her eyes were wide and dark with want. He knew he could hardly look any better and his hair was undoubtedly a mess from her hands in it, but he couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest.

Neither of them spoke as they stared at each other. He could see the battle that was waging within her beneath the surface lust. There was worry there, but also no small amount of fear. He thought he could tell where that came from, he knew her so well.

She had spent so much of her life making sure that she never counted on anyone for anything. Every experience in her past had taught her that counting on people was a bad idea that would only lead to unhappiness and misery. But she did count on him, despite so many efforts to keep him at a flirty arms reach like all the other men in her life. And that scared her. He'd seen that before, in smaller ways, but tonight it had come to a head with the Foyle letter and his quiet assistance working her mind around it.

He stayed silent as he watched her work through things in her own head. His gut roiled as he considered the very real possibility that he was about to be kicked out the door and possibly completely out of her life. But he waited. He wouldn't push her, not on this.

His fears were silenced as a small grin spread across her features. The battle was over apparently, at least for the time being. He had no illusions that this wouldn't come up again, but for the moment…

"Sorry." Her tone was a mix of amusement and apology, but her expression held only want as she stepped back into him.

His hand caressed the side of her neck as he moved it to the back of her head, his voice low between them as he pulled her lips back to his, "Don't be."

Their mouths opened against each other immediately and Jack's last coherent thoughts as her tongue caressed the roof of his mouth were that he would need to tell her about the divorce before things went too much further and that she probably wouldn't be surprised when he did.

She knew him just as well as he knew her after all.

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 **AN:** "Strange Bedfellows" is from Shakespeare's The Tempest (Act II, Scene II):

Line 27-28 - **Trinculo:** Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

 **Meaning:** Trinculo, finding himself caught out in a storm, must seek a refuge that would be otherwise unthinkable. He remarks that in hard times a man must sometimes make choices and align with people he wouldn't usual choose.


	11. 1x11 To Thine Own Self Be True

**AN:** I know that it's taking me longer to get these up. I promise I am still working on them. I've actually written several of the later ones already, but I've been having a bear of a time with this and the next two. Hopefully once I've gotten through those the delivery will speed up. In the meantime, I am still working on them.

 **AN2:** Episode 1.11 - Blood and Circuses. In the episode, we see Jack find out about Elsie's son and that he's at the circus and then the next thing we see is Phryne opening Elsie's locket in her parlor with Jack there. So this takes place between the two, since we don't see Jack arrive in that scene.

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 **To Thine Own Self Be True**

Phryne examined her reflection in the mirror, allowing herself a brief moment of narcissism as she admired what she saw. She was changing back into her circus costume and readying herself to head back into the apparent (but not actual) chaos of the closed community of the carnies.

She'd been shocked when Sam had turned up at her door, asking for her help. She hadn't seen him in years, had worked so hard to put that whole part of her childhood out of her mind, the good times far too painful to think of because of the bad that followed. To see him standing in her parlor, so different from the boy she'd known and yet still so much the same as he'd been that horrible day so many years earlier.

When he'd told her about the death at the circus, she'd been extremely reluctant to help. As much as she was confident that she would be able to assist in finding whoever had killed Miss Christopher, she couldn't bring herself to even imagine stepping back into that place where Janey had disappeared so long ago.

Sam had understood. Of course, he had. He'd been her closest friend, aside from Janey, then. He'd been there that day, knew everything that had happened. So he understood. Hadn't asked her to come with him back to the circus again and seemed genuinely pleased when she told him that she'd introduce him to a detective who might be able to help in her place.

And she truly had planned to leave it at that. She had faith in Jack and his abilities. When he'd said no… In a way she understood. He was restrained by rules and politics where she wasn't. If the case had been given to a different officer, she knew there was only so much that he could do. And when she'd found later that he was using his rank in the force to lean on Grossmith to get the job done, she'd been grateful, but at the time her pride and indignance at his apparent disinterest had gotten the better of her and she'd agreed to go with Samson back to the carnival.

And it had been good for her, she admitted. Had helped her exorcise a few demons. Not all of them, certainly, but many.

She was still ruminating on her last few days as a magician's aid and all of the things she'd discovered since when Mr. Butler's gentle tap interrupted her thoughts, followed shortly by the man himself.

"Inspector Robinson is downstairs for you, Miss."

Her smile grew at this announcement and she nodded her acknowledgement. "I'll be down in a moment."

The older man answered with a nod of his own before exiting, shutting the door behind him as he did so.

Phryne turned back to her reflection in the mirror, her smile fading a little as she did so. It was true that she was glad to have Jack turn up. She always enjoyed his company and in this case, he probably also came bearing information regarding the case of Miss Christopher. But…

For the past few days, there had been a certain mild awkwardness, she might even go so far as to say "shyness", to their interactions. All because of a small bundle of papers that had been on his desk as they'd reviewed notes from their last case.

She'd been sitting in the chair opposite him as they ran through their final observations on what had looked at first to be a simple robbery, but had ended up being a convoluted tangle that included one illegitimate child, one disinherited heir, two affairs, and a full four separate thefts (by four separate people) of the same one item. She had been helping Jack attempt to make sense of the whole thing in his report and had stood to lean across the desk to point out a detail in one of their evidence photos when she noticed it.

"Elliot and Wentworth" in big black text. The name of one of the best, and most expensive, law firms in the area. She had paused in her conversation with Jack to look more closely at the papers and it had only taken her a brief moment to realize that they were divorce papers. More specifically, divorce papers written up by Rosie's lawyers and served to Jack. His wife was asking him for a divorce.

She had glanced up from the stack to look at the man in question. He had met her eyes. His expression was slightly wary, as though he expected some kind of censure from her at the revelation. But there was also no small amount of hope in his features. She hadn't known what to say and had chosen instead to ignore it altogether, shifting her focus back to the report they were writing and continuing as if nothing had happened.

So, he hadn't made any effort to hide them and she hadn't said anything about them, but they both knew that she knew. She'd seen it. The question in his eyes at the time and in moments since: does this change anything? She'd been asking herself the same ever since.

Her experiences with her father had taught her from a very young age to never rely on anyone. To never put yourself in the position of truly needing anyone. From the moment that she had met Jack Robinson, she'd been failing at that. Slowly at first. In the early days, it had been a need for his connections, his access at the police station and her access through him. But that had been changing dramatically during the year that they'd known each other. Need for his access had become need of his intelligence, his sharp observations which then had slowly become need of his company, his wry humor and easy conversation.

She wasn't really sure how far that need had stretched yet. Wasn't sure if she had reached a point where she wouldn't be able to just walk away if it suited her. She suspected that she couldn't anymore. Feared that she had reached a point with Jack Robinson, without meaning to or being completely aware of it happening, where she would be unable to bring herself to leave him behind as she had with so many other people in her life.

The idea scared her, but not as much as she thought it should. After their conversation regarding Foyle's letter the previous week, she knew that her trust in him was in no way misplaced. He had proved that he would be there for her, just as she would be for him. And he wasn't pushing her, a courtesy that she was sure she wouldn't have received from any other man after almost a year of verbal sparring, flirtatious touches, and an ever deepening emotional intimacy. He was giving her the time and space to figure out an answer to that question.

Did his pending divorce change anything?

With a jolt she realized that she'd spent several minutes staring blankly at her reflection. Giving the costume one last smoothing down, she spun on her heel and left the room, closing the door behind her. Her feet felt lightly on the stairs as she made her way down the stairs to the foyer. She caught Mr. Butler's eyes as he crossed into the dining room and knew that he had been right on the verge of coming up to see her again. She gave him a light smile to let him know all was well, glad once again of the good fortune that had brought the older man into her household.

As she stepped off the final step, she turned to stride into the parlor, but her step faltered for a moment as she caught sight of Jack. He was standing just in front of the couch, where he had obviously been seated just moments earlier, his body turned towards the double door, but it was his expression that caused Phryne to pause herself. It wasn't the heat of lust in his eyes that caused her to check her motion, though that was certainly present, she had seen men look at her that way since she was a teenager and she had noticed Jack's discomposure when she'd flashed her costume at her earlier in his office. The lust didn't bother her, it didn't even surprise her.

It was the sheer depth of feeling that lay behind that lust that caught her off guard. It shouldn't have. It was the same emotions that had been in his eyes each time he'd looked at her after that moment in his office when she'd found his divorce papers. A mixture of hope, fear, and, she thought, love.

And in that moment, she found the answer she'd been looking for for so many days. Did his divorce change things? Yes. And no.

Yes, it changed things. He was no longer married. The dance that they had been doing around each other for a year, one which they both knew couldn't go anywhere, now could. He was no longer honor bound to another woman. She'd cast him aside, officially. The idea should scare Phryne, she thought, but it didn't. Maybe in the early days it would have, to no longer have that safety barrier between her and the way he felt, the way she knew he had felt for quite a while. Ever since a short kiss in a cafe, had marked a change in the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. She should be terrified. She should be running, packing things up and off and away. Anything to avoid that closeness.

Because, no, it didn't change anything. He was still Jack. Still the same man that she had turned to to talk her out of taking Foyle's deal. Still the same man that sat in her parlor, drank, and talked with her after long cases. The same man who she would trust with not just her life, but also with Jane's and Dot's. The first man in a very long time that she thought she might be able to trust with her heart. She thought that maybe she already did.

The realization put a large grin on her face as she forced her feet to start moving again. Her smile seemed to startle him and a level of suspicion crept into his features. It made her want to laugh, but she held it in as she walked into the parlor, deliberately brushing past him to seat herself on the couch. He sat as well, the suspicion still pulling his mouth into a slight frown. She decided to put his mind at ease.

"Relax, Jack." Her smile softened, "I'm just glad to see you."

The suspicion disappeared for the most, though the surprise did not. This was not the kind of thing they said to each other. They said similar things. The same meanings, but couched in less direct, less intimate terms: 'Jack, just the man I was looking for.' 'To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Fisher.' and the like. Not saying things while still saying them was a part of the dance they had perfected around each other.

She could tell that he wasn't sure how to respond, what to do now that she'd altered their pattern. The hope that had been on his features earlier increased, but she knew that she'd have to be even more direct. He had been giving her the space to figure out how she felt about his divorce and what, if anything, it meant for them and he would continue to give her that space, he wouldn't push things, so she would have to. Instead he shifted gears.

After clearing his throat and looking away briefly over her shoulder, he spoke, "I've come across some interesting information that may help you with the carnival case." His eyes trailed over her body as he finished, taking in the costume she was wearing and the many assets that it left on display. She found herself briefly disappointed that he hadn't seen the purple number that she'd worn for the knife throwing.

But she couldn't let herself get distracted by that. They'd get to the case soon enough, but first she wanted to make things clear to Jack. She didn't want anymore time to go by without him knowing, now that she'd figured things out in her own mind. When he opened his mouth to continue speaking, she interrupted.

"Before we get to the case, Jack, I want to talk to you about something else." She saw a brief flare of concern in his eyes, but she pressed on, "Something that's been on my mind for a couple of days."

She paused, uncertain how to continue. She knew what she wanted to tell him, but she wasn't sure how to best go about saying it. Best just to get it out she supposed. She turned slightly on the couch to face him more fully, her knee brushing his slightly as she did. His sharp intake of breath at the brief touch spurred her on.

"Rosie has asked you for a divorce." She kept her voice even and emotionless as she spoke. His eyes widened and breathing quickened as he realized that she was breaking their unspoken agreement not to mention it. She pushed on, taking a deep breath before asking, "Are you going to sign the papers?"

She stared into his eyes as she waited for him to respond, her heart pounding so heavily that she was sure he could hear it in the quiet room. For a long moment, he just sat there, his eyes locked on hers as he tried to read her expression. And then after a deep gulp, he nodded, his eyes not leaving hers.

"Yes." His voice was hoarse and he swallowed before speaking again. "Yes. My lawyer is looking over the paperwork now, but he thinks it should be fairly straightforward. Once I have his okay, I'll sign them."

It was her turn to sit in silence for a long moment. His words may have been basic and businesslike, but his tone had been quite another story, the hope and love that she'd seen in his expression every time he'd looked at her for months pouring into every word. As she continued to look at him silently, a hint of panic entered his expression, and she could practically read the worry in his mind. She eased it with a smile and a single word.

"Good."

A smile had just started to form on his features when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

She had thought that she would be catching him by surprise, but he responded immediately, one hand rising to stroke her cheek as the other groped blindly beside them for a place to set down the glass of iced tea he'd been holding since she walked in. She heard the thunk of it being set on the coffee table and then his hand was at her waist as hers stroked up over his shoulders to wrap around his neck.

She opened her mouth and darted her tongue out to brush against his lips. She was rewarded by a deep groan and the opening of his own as the hand on her cheek swept to the back of her neck. The open mouthed contact didn't last long and she mewled slightly as he pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. His own were wide and dark with desire. His voice was raw as he spoke.

"I don't like your hair like this."

It took her a long moment to realize that he meant the long braid that she was wearing as part of her costume. She smiled at him, wondering if he'd dreamed of burying his fingers in her hair the way that she had with his for so long.

"Good to know." Her words were barely out before he was pulling her back into him, his tongue sweeping deep into her mouth to tangle with her own.

For long moments she was lost in the feel of him. The heat of his hand on her side where his fingers were splayed out across her ribs. His taste, a combination of tea and mint and something that she couldn't identify, something that she thought was just Jack. The little growling sound he made in the back of his throat any time she teasingly withdrew her tongue for brief moments. The fingers on her neck holding her firmly against him, as if she had any intention of going anywhere. His own wide shoulders and soft hair beneath her hands.

They pulled apart briefly to catch a breath of air, each of them taking in the darkened eyes and mussed appearance of the other before they dove back into each other. The hand at her neck moved down to her hip, brushing tantalizingly against the side of her breast along the way. And then he was pulling her fully into him, their mouths never leaving each other as she read his intention and swung her leg over his to straddle him.

She groaned into his mouth at the feeling of him under her, her skirt riding up on her hips leaving little of his anatomy or desire to the imagination. For a brief moment, she relished in the feeling, but the unfamiliar heavy weight of her braid thunking along her spine brought her out of the haze of lust long enough to pull back from him.

"We shouldn't." She paused to catch her breath, but spoke again at the fear that suddenly took over his features. "Not yet, not right now." The fear softened. She smiled as her breathing continued to even out, did he honestly think that she was going to turn him away completely. "You…" She stopped, trying to figure out how to phrase her next words, which was proving difficult as her body kept trying to point out the position they were in and distract her from her purpose. As usual Jack seemed to read her mind.

"I haven't signed the papers. Yet." She smiled at his qualification and nodded. She leaned in and kissed him, closed lipped, for a long moment, wanting to make it very clear that she did want this, she just didn't want either of them violating their own morals for it. When she pulled back, he smiled and helped her slide off his lap.

They sat in silence for a long moment, just looking at each other. Their staring contest was interrupted by Mr. Butler entering with a glass of iced tea for Phryne and a pitcher to refill Jack's glass. Neither looked up for more than a second and the older man swept out without a word. Finally Phryne spoke.

"Yet?" She smiled as she asked.

"Soon." His return smile matched her own, and he took his eyes off hers to sweep them over her body. "Soon."

They sat in silence sipping their drinks for several long moments before Phryne remembered what he'd said earlier.

"What was it you found out about the circus case?"

With a smile at the change in subject, Jack set his glass aside and pulled out Elsie Tizzard's locket, launching into an explanation as they turned their attention back to their work.

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 **AN:** "To Thine Own Self be True" is from Shakespeare's Hamlet (Act I, Scene III):

Line 76-82 - **Polonius** : Neither a borrower nor a lender be,  
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,  
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.  
This above all: to thine own self be true,  
And it must follow, as the night the day,  
Thou canst not then be false to any man.  
Farewell. My blessing season this in thee.

 **Meaning:** Polonius is speaking to his son, Laertes, as he is about to leave. He is giving his son advice about being out in the real world and living a solid life. Much of his advice is a tad contradictory or involves balancing a very fine middle ground between two broad extremes. His last advice is probably his best: be true to yourself.


	12. 1x12 Eternity Was in Our Lips and Eyes

**AN:** I had a little bit of a difficult time keeping this one out of full smut territory. So much so that I am seriously considering doing M-rated versions of some of these. Only after I finish all three seasons of these, but still. Anyone else interested? Basically just these pushed into smut. Like Jack's dream in Chapter 1 going much further. Or the make out in Chapter 4 not being interrupted. That kind of thing.

 **AN2:** Episode 1.12 - Murder in the Dark

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 **Eternity Was in Our Lips and Eyes**

His steps were heavy as he exited the courthouse, trudging down the front walkway, shoulders hunched and head bowed to watch his feet as he moved towards his car. It was official, he was divorced. He sighed as he reached his car and got in. He could feel the final court decree in his jacket pocket as he slumped down in the driver's seat.

Jack thought he should feel sad or angry or guilty. Or really anything. But he was past all of that he realized as he turned the ignition and started the vehicle; past the self-reproachment and denial he had felt for so long when considering his wife and their estrangement. Now there was just acceptance and a certain feeling of relief, which he hated himself a little bit for, but couldn't find a more suitable feeling to replace it with.

That hatred was ridiculous, he knew. He and Rosie had been separated for nearly a year and unhappy cohabitants for long before that. He could barely remember a time after the war when they were truly a happy couple and the times before the war were so very far away. As he drove steadily down the thoroughfare, he reminded himself that things were so much better now, though he hated that they had failed… That he had failed her so miserably and completely. The reminder served him well and as the self-loathing faded away, he allowed himself to settle into the apathy and mild loneliness that came in it's wake.

That was probably the worst part about the separation and divorce: he didn't miss Rosie. Oh, he missed having someone waiting and worrying for him to come home in the evening. He missed the warm presence of another person in his bed as he slept. Missed not being alone. But he didn't miss Rosie. Not specifically.

He had been lost in his thoughts as he sped along, not really planning or caring where he was headed. Perhaps he should have been surprised when he finally pulled the car to a stop in the long driveway of Prudence Stanley's house, but he wasn't. How could he be anywhere else? She had asked that he come, her inner turmoil clear on her face as she'd told him she needed him to keep her from being afraid of shadows.

He had never been able to turn down one of her requests, not since he first met her. And this one was particularly impossible to dismiss. She was trusting him to help her navigate the extremely dark waters of her past and he would do just that, even if it meant having to also navigate through the height of Melbourne society at the party of the year.

With a sigh, he stepped out of the car. For a moment he stood, just staring up at the house, thinking of all of the things that had led him here. With a start he realized that he might not have planned on driving here after his day in court, but this is always where he'd been headed. Not specifically to this house, but to her. He'd been heading here ever since she opened a bathroom door in a dead man's house and refused to back down. He smiled as he thought back on all the moments that had brought him to this point, even his rocky marriage and subsequent divorce. Maybe especially his divorce. Because now he had no excuses.

For so long he'd been coming up with reasons in his mind why he should be keeping his distance from the amazing, intriguing Lady Detective. There were plenty to choose from: their working relationship, her long history of dalliances and casual relationships, the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to be another in that long string, and plenty of others. But the kicker, when long talks over brandy and eye contact that lasted a little too long drove the other excuses from his mind, had always been his marriage. No matter how bad things with Rosie were or how long she had been out of the house or how much he wanted Phryne Fisher, he was still a married man and he would never betray that reality. Now though…

He stood thinking for a long time, just barely able to make out the sounds of laughter and music from the party inside. And then he was in motion, his feet carrying him swiftly up the front walk and steps, two thoughts out of the thousands from the previous few moments driving him on: he was no longer married, no longer spoken for, and Phryne was inside.

He had barely knocked when the door was opened by Miss Stanley's valet. Without a word, Jack handed over the invitation that Phryne had given him the previous evening. He barely registered the man welcoming him before he was moving again, not even pausing to hand over his hat and coat, off down the hall in search of the woman in question.

And then suddenly she was there and all coherent thoughts flew from his mind as he took in what she was wearing. In the hustle and confusion of the day it had entirely slipped his mind that the engagement party was a costumed affair, but the outfit Phryne was wearing brought the fact slamming back into his mind. She was actively trying to kill him, he thought when the initial shock of seeing her in the white skirted ensemble began to wear off.

His steps slowed as he took in the details of her costume: the gentle sway of the white skirt with each step she took, the golden sandals and headdress, her makeup accentuating her eyes, and the flesh-toned sheer that hugged her midriff which somehow managed to preserve modesty in a socially acceptable way while simultaneously leaving nothing to the imagination. This was a version of her that was going to be branded into his memory for many, many years to come he knew. This sultry, confident Queen of the Nile.

She smiled broadly at him when they were just a few paces away and spoke as she stopped in front of him.

"Jack, you made it." The affection in her tone was obvious and it brought a grin to his face to know that she was as happy to see him as he was to see her.

He allowed himself a blatant glance up and down her body before locking eyes with her again. Her smile widened at the gesture, her surprise evident - he wasn't usually so obvious - and widened further at his next words.

"Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile." He was glad that his voice was normal as he spoke, no sign of what the outfit was doing to him apparent in his tone.

"Very good." She took a step closer to him and the thought that she was trying to kill him once again crossed his mind. Her next words helped him refocus a bit, drawing his mind a bit away from the woman in front of him and back to the reason, technically, why he was there: the case. "I assume Hugh told you about our interview with Mrs. Truebody."

"He did."

"Good. I can fill you in on the rest." She paused, swaying a bit closer to him, and the sudden gleam in her eye put him on guard at the same time that it sent a jolt of arousal through him. Crazy ideas that he could never manage to sufficiently justify in his official reports tended to follow that gleam, he knew, but he liked the way it lit up her entire face. A second wave of arousal went through him as she spoke again, her hand reaching out to smooth down his lapel as she did.

"But first…"

'Yep,' he thought to himself, 'this is not going to be something I'm going to like.'

Her mischievous smile before she finished her thought guaranteed that. "You need a costume."

And there it was. Why, oh why, did he let himself get drawn into these things? But he knew exactly why. Because it was Phryne. That had been all it had taken since very early on in their interactions. He thinks it started on the Ballarat Train, when she had run off with Jane and their victim's daughter. That's certainly the first moment when he realized that she was a woman who was going to do what she was going to do and there would be no stopping her.

But this was much worse than breaking into book shops or confronting murders. She was asking him to replace his suit, the armor he had become so used to wearing to face the world, with some crazy getup - because knowing her, she certainly would have nothing simple in mind - while surrounded by people he didn't know. Even trying to imagine what she might have in mind, given some of the individuals he could see in the ballroom, gave him a headache.

Before he could begin to argue, she was walking away down the hall towards a set of stairs. When he didn't immediately follow, she glanced back over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a long moment as a short battle raged in his mind between his dignity and his desire to see her happy, even at cost to himself.

It didn't take long before he was opening his eyes and trailing in her wake. She was halfway up the stairs before he started up them, his eyes trained on her backside as she sashayed up them. She had to know that he was watching her, but she didn't glance back as his footsteps sounded on the risers. Only when she was at the top did she look back to him with a smile and pause to let him catch up. He took the opportunity to try, at least minimally, to get himself out of whatever she had in mind.

"I don't believe that a costume is necessary, Miss Fisher."

She didn't respond as she continued down the hallway to one of the doors. He sighed, trailing along just a step behind her as she pushed open the door and gestured him in. He paused for a brief moment, wary of the lack of wisdom of going into what appeared to be her bedroom with her dressed that way. The reflexes he'd built up over a year in her company, ones designed to limit temptation as much as humanly possible, screamed as he gave in.

He stepped into the space, Phryne close on his heels. As he tossed his coat and hat on the bed and watched her go over to the wardrobe, he tried again.

"I'm here on business, Miss Fisher. I hardly think a costume is necessary to solve a murder case."

Leaning against the footboard of the bed, he tried not to stare as she bent slightly into the wardrobe. He concentrated instead on her words as she replied.

"How can protest when you have no idea what I have in mind?" Her tone was laughing as she straightened, garment bag in hand.

"Because nine times out of ten, what you have in mind gives me grief." His own voice was serious as he tried to cover the humor he was feeling.

He was glad of the flirty bantering, the normalcy of it helping him regain some of the footing he had lost upon first seeing her walk towards him as Cleopatra. And which had not been helped by the couple of small touches or her close proximity. Besides, pushing back against her suggestions, no matter how futilely, always made him feel better about the fact that they both knew he would eventually give in.

Her back was still to him, but he knew she was smiling. As she fiddled with the garment bag and it's contents - currently hidden from his view by her body - he continued.

"There's nothing wrong with the way I'm dressed. I'm perfectly disguised as a police detective."

Her tone was equal parts teasing and serious as she responded, finally turning to look at him. "You won't detect much in a crowd this fast in a blue wool suit and tie."

With a flourish she finally pulled the garment bag away from the costume within, a red Roman tunic with leather armor. He pushed himself away from the bed to stand straight as the realization of what she intended started to sink in.

"I kept this aside for you." Crouching down briefly she grabbed a plumed helmet from a trunk on the floor, "A passable Mark Antony, if we pilfer that sword on display in the billiard room."

His heart sank as she spoke and he couldn't hide the dismay that crossed his features. This was so much worse than he had imagined. The outfit itself wasn't really the issue. He assumed that their were appropriate boots somewhere in the mess of costumes scattered around the room that would complete the look admirably. And there were certainly worse historical and literary characters to be dressed up as.

The real problem was that the outfit that she had chosen for him was such an obvious pair to her own. Once again, the self-preservation instincts he had built up over so many months around her kicked in, all of them telling him that spending the evening dressed as Mark Antony to her Cleopatra would be nothing more than a harsh reminder of the relationship he didn't have with her. And the implications that the rest of the party guests would no doubt read into it would not help.

They weren't lovers, no matter how much he wished that were not the case. To spend the night surrounded by a host of drunk individuals assuming the opposite - and less than discreet about mentioning that assumption, if his read of her cousin was anything to go on - might be more than his heart could take.

She was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern and he realized that he had been staring silently at her and the clothes for several moments.

"So, I'm to be the triple pillar of the world transformed into a strumpet's fool?" As he spoke, Phryne strode past him to lay the tunic and helmet on the bed. He stayed where he was, not even turning to look at her until she responded.

"You've been at least a single pillar for far too long." He wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that and chose to ignore it as she continued speaking. "No one will know who you are."

She'd barely finished speaking before she was standing in front of him and reaching up to his tie. All he could do was gape at her in stunned disbelief as she began to loosen the silk. His brain had begun to short circuit as he felt her fingers brush briefly against his neck, but he managed to find his voice to respond.

"Except you." His tone was rough as he tried to maintain his composure. It was difficult. She was standing much closer to him than normal and he could smell the heady sandalwood and floral notes of her perfume. It was taking every ounce of the self control that he'd built up during his association with her to keep from either pushing her hands away from him and retreating from the house or hauling her against him and kissing her senseless.

He nearly lost it when she looked up through her lashes and spoke again, her voice thick and low. He was glad that he wasn't the only one being affected by their proximity.

"Come on, Jack. Just one gaudy night."

Having loosened the knot, her hands began to pull at the tie slowly and gently, but she kept her eyes locked on his, the invitation in them and implication in her words very clear.

As he looked down at her, his breathing heavy and heart racing, a single thought pushed through the desire. A thought he'd had so many times around her. With it came the compulsion to pull away from her.

'You Are Married, this isn't right.'

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he remembered that it was no longer true. He wasn't married anymore. As of thirty minutes earlier, he was a bachelor again. And every measure to keep himself from the temptation that was Phryne Fisher over the last year, every behavior meant to keep distance between them because of his marriage, was no longer necessary.

Yes, there were still other issues - her history and tendencies with men, the work they did together, her social reputation - but at that moment, he couldn't find it in himself to care about anything but the feel of her hands at his collar and the knowledge that he was free to pursue whomever he chose.

As the epiphany took hold, his previously gaping mouth closed, replaced by a small smile as he continued to gaze down into her eyes. His heart rate slowed marginally as the panic that had been gripping him since she reached towards his collar, maybe even since she showed him the Marc Antony costume, slipped away.

Her face showed confusion at his smile and he suddenly wondered if her behavior had been about making him uncomfortable; if she did these things because it amused her to see him squirm rather than any kind of real feelings on her part. He let the idea slide away as she continued to work on his tie, the confusion on her features slipping away to be replaced by a soft smile he hadn't seen before.

When the knot was finally undone, she pulled gently on one end, allowing the silk to slide slowly out of his collar. She didn't take her eyes from his as she tossed it onto the bed behind him and then made quick work of the two buttons on his vest. When she then reached her hands up to the top button of his shirt, she paused there, not undoing it.

He could read the unspoken question in her features and his smile widened as he thought about how, just a day ago, he would have stopped her. Would have told her he could take it from there. Would have implied that she should leave the room before he continue to change for the party. Not today, though. It wasn't until that moment that he truly appreciated the full extent of the freedom that came with his divorce.

Her eyes burned into his as he answered her silent question with a tiny nod. Her surprise was obvious, but she didn't question further, her nimble fingers unbuttoning the top button without looking at it, before slowly sliding her hands down to the next.

As she started to undo the second button, he raised his left hand from where it had been dangling at his side and laid it on her hip, his fingers flexing against her at the feel of her warm skin just a thin layer from his own. The surprise on her face intensified for a long moment and then faded entirely as his thumb began stroking against her side. It was replaced by an expression of pure desire and her hands were a little less coordinated as she undid the third and fourth buttons. He felt a swell of pride at that, at being able to unhinge her the same way she did him. By the time she reached the fifth, his heart was once again pounding uncontrollably and his hand was clenching reflexively against her side.

This wasn't how he had ever imagined this would happen, he thought as she worked on the sixth button. And he had thought about it quite a bit. He had always figured that their initial coming together would be largely accidental. Something would happen on a case: he would pull her against him to get her out of the line of fire, or she would press a finger against his lips to silence him, or something of that nature and the damn would just break open. The self-control he'd been holding onto would snap and everything would change. Up until Rosie had sent him the divorce papers, he had also assumed that he would regret it afterwards, no matter how it happened or how much he had longed for it. This slow, sensual start to whatever they were going to be 10 minutes or an hour or two weeks from now, that surprised him.

He was drawn from his thoughts as he felt her hands still as the fabric at the sixth button came open. He noticed the question was back in her expression and a quick glance down told him why. Tightening his grip on her side, he raised his right hand from his side to tug gently at his shirt where it tucked into his trousers. With a delighted smile, she moved to help him, pulling at the left side until the shirt came loose to hang, with one last button fastened, around his waist.

As she reached for the last button, he released the fabric he'd been holding. As she paused with her hands on the button, he reached up and, with gentle fingers, tilted her chin up until her eyes locked once again on his own. When she smiled up at him, he continued to raise his hand, caressing her cheek before gripping the headdress and lifting it away. Dropping it next to them, he smoothed out her hair as her fingers went back to work on his last button.

As the small disc slipped free of the fabric, he was startled and gratified by the expression of desire that darkened her eyes. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as they continued to stare at one another and he was sure his expression of want matched her own. After a long moment, she raised her hands and laid them, almost reverently, on his chest, the tips of her little fingers nearly brushing his skin at the edges of his singlet.

The feel of her hands so near his skin pushed Jack over the edge. The hand that had been smoothing her hair dropped to the back of her neck and pulled her into him, his lips unerringly finding hers. He took full advantage of the small gasp of surprise she let out at the move, running his tongue over her bottom lip before dipping into her mouth to tangle with her own.

Her surprise was short lived and she responded to his kiss with equal ardor, one of her hands running up his chest and shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. Her other hand dropped slightly, gliding over his rib cage and around to his back, pulling herself closer into the embrace.

His own hands mirrored hers, holding her tightly against him as he mapped her mouth with his tongue. When she pulled back slightly to nip at his bottom lip, he groaned low, his eyes opening to look into her own. What he found there was everything he'd ever imagined and some things he hadn't dared to hope for: her eyes nearly black with lust, lips swollen and panting, her smile - not teasing or triumphant, but gentle and affectionate - and her chest heaving like his own.

For a long moment he just stared at her in silent wonder. Then when the sight of her in such a state became too much for him to bear, he tugged her towards him again, glad that the bed's footboard against his backside was giving him some of the stability that his legs were now lacking.

She resisted his pull, even stepping back a fraction, and a wave of pain ran through him. She was going to stop this, tell him that it was fun, but really she had just wanted to see if she could crumble his defenses. He was sure of it, images and feelings passing through him for the short moment before her lips turned up in a sexy grin. Then she was in motion, one hand sweeping back across his ribs, the other dropping from his neck, both pausing to caress his chest before moving up to his shoulders, under his shirt and vest and jacket.

There she paused, her expression silently asking him if it was okay. He had barely given one tiny nod, really only the slightest downward jerk of his head - relief shooting through him as he realized what she intended - before she was pushing the three layers down his arms. As she did so, she rose on her toes to meet his lips once again. The fabric had only just cleared his hands - landing on the floor with a soft whump noise - before they were back on her, pulling her as tight against his body as he could.

It wasn't enough, he decided just moments later, and in just a couple of steps he had pushed away from the footboard - Phryne still wrapped tight in his arms - pivoted them around the end of the bed and pushed her back onto it, following closely, their lips separating only long enough for her to release a small moan that told him everything he needed to know about how she felt about the aggressive move. Then he was over her, his hands on her waist as hers clutched his shoulders, their pelvises pressed tight against one another, as he kissed her with every ounce of emotion he had in him.

'Kissing her is heaven.' The thought had only just entered his mind when he felt her hands sweep down his chest, pushing between them until she reached the bottom of his singlet. Then her fingers were under the thin shirt, lightly caressing his stomach and sides, and all coherent thought left his mind. With a groan, he pulled away just far enough to watch her face as he moved one of the hands from her waist down over her hip. Her eyes darkened further than he would have previously thought possible and he watched her intently - immensely turned on by her reactions - as he slid the hand further down her leg, searching for the slit in the skirt he had seen earlier. When he touched skin, she let out a small mewling noise that sent a huge jolt of arousal through him.

With a heated grin, he began to move the hand back up the way it had come, gliding slowly across skin instead of fabric as he inched his way up her leg. She gave him a frustrated little glare at his teasing pace, her hands clenching against his side before gripping tightly and pulling him back down to her, his chest molding against hers as their lips connected, the kiss now slow and heady.

An eruption of noise caused them to jerk apart, his hand moving from her leg to the bed to separate them while hers dropped to her stomach as he pushed away.

It took Jack a moment to identify the loud roar as coming from the party still in full swing in the ballroom below them. He was about to make a comment about how he was sure they were having a better time than anyone at the engagement bash when he saw her expression morph. Where just seconds before she had been the picture of lust and sexuality, he now read horror and regret on her features. Just as he had earlier, he could feel his heart break at the look in her eyes as she pushed him further away from her.

"Phryne…" He trailed off as she shook her head at him, barely able to look him in the eye as she tried to stand while simultaneously straightening her hair and outfit. Her tone was shaky as she responded to his unfinished plea.

"No. We can't." She gained her feet as she spoke and he stepped back to give her space, not comprehending what was happening. "You're married."

She shuffled past him, scooping her Cleopatra headdress off the floor as she went. It took him several moments to process what she had said; to push back the pain and sadness that threatened to completely overwhelm him long enough to understand what she was saying.

He hadn't told her. He'd meant to. Had planned, as he stood outside staring up at the house, to find some way of letting her know about the divorce. But he hadn't. He'd gotten understandably distracted. And now she was leaving and he knew her well enough to know why. She didn't regret what had happened, he hadn't misread her desire, but she did regret what she thought she had drawn him into. She thought that she had caused him to break his vows; vows that she knew were incredibly important to him. Vows that she had to know had stopped him in the past.

It took him mere seconds to comprehend her motives and as soon as he did he was in motion. She was almost to the door, her hand reaching for the doorknob, when his hand on her wrist stopped her. She didn't turn to look at him, her eyes fixed instead on his gentle fingers against her skin. He didn't care as long as she wasn't actively leaving anymore. As long as she was listening.

"No, I'm not." His voice was strong, his enunciation clear, leaving no room for her to misunderstand him.

She drew in a sharp breath as her eyes finally rose to his face. She stared at him for several long moments, her eyes flickering across his face. When she spoke, her words were more hesitant than he'd ever heard them before.

"You're not what?" Her distress was palpable, but he could also see the slight hope in her eyes as she watched him. In this moment she needed him to be clearer than he'd ever previously been, he could tell, and he gave her a small apologetic smile as he answered.

"I'm not married. Not anymore." He glanced down at his watch, his expression sheepish as he looked back up at her. "Not since about an hour ago."

He didn't know what else to say, or if there even was anything to say, so he just watched as understanding flashed across her features. He thought he could guess what she was thinking, could almost see her connecting the dots of the last few days: the barrister, his toughest case, missing an interview for court. Emotions came and went across her face almost faster than he could read them. Hope, happiness, a trace of annoyance before sadness and worry took center stage to all others. He was about to question them when she spoke.

"Oh, Jack." She turned fully towards him, reaching up a gentle hand to caress his cheek, worry still etched across her face and her voice tinged with sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

'How well she knows me,' he thought as he leaned into the touch. She had never been married, never even been inclined towards such an attachment as far as he knew, and yet she understood how he would feel about the final end of his sixteen year marriage. So many nights spent talking in her parlor. So many shared memories and mistakes. Of course, she would understand his pain and guilt at the failure his marriage had proved to be. But there was so much she didn't understand as well.

"I'm not." His reply startled her, surprise clear on her face as she looked up into his eyes. He raised a hand to cover the one of hers still resting against his cheek. After a moment, he brought it down, intertwining their fingers as he lowered them, speaking as he did. "I was at first, I felt like such a failure." She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued before she could, "But this has been such a long time coming. The marriage has been dead for quite a while, the divorce was just the last nail in the coffin. It was the right thing to do."

He glanced down briefly at their joined hands before meeting her eyes again. He tried to find the words to explain. To define how much he regrets how his marriage ended, but at the same time doesn't regret a thing, but nothing came to him. Finally he decided it didn't matter, he'd said the important things. He gave her a small smile and tugged gently on her hand, bringing her closer as he spoke.

"I'm not sorry."

And then he's kissing her again. It's different from earlier, their mouths meeting slowly and surely, repeated short touches of lips, soft caresses of tongues, gently tasting each other in the wake of such a set of emotional ups and downs.

Jack wanted to delve deeper into her. To dive in and never come up for breath. But he remembered where they were and why they were there and he moved away before he was too far gone to care. By the look in her eyes and the heavy way her chest heaved up and down, he's pretty sure she's right there with him.

He gave her hand, fingers still laced tightly with his, a small squeeze and then stepped back, but didn't release her.

"We should get back to the party." His voice was a little breathless and lower than his normal register. She looked at him like she couldn't care less about the party or anything else beyond the room they were in and his ego inflated at the want painted across her face. He knew his own echoed that same desire, but he had also realized that the conversation about his divorce wasn't the only one they needed to have before things went further. A quick romp in this bedroom, while wonderful, wasn't what he wanted. At least, wasn't all he wanted. And that was a conversation that needed to be had, but not there, not then. He tried a different tack, his smile calm and content, eyes never leaving her own. "Your aunt will probably be looking for you."

She sighed as his words penetrated the fog of lust, knowing he was right. He could see in her expression the moment she remembered that she was supposed to be sharing hostess duties with Mrs. Stanley. She gave him a smile, nodding her head as she started to release his hand. He held on and pulled her back to him for a brief closed mouthed kiss before releasing her and stepping back.

They stared at each other for a long moment. A war raged inside Jack's head as he watched her watch him. On one hand, it would be so easy to turn and lock the door and then close the distance between them. On the other, he had put a stop to it for a reason and that reason was still valid. Finally, good sense won out over the lust.

"Go. I'll get changed." His voice was rueful, leaving no doubt that he was still not pleased at being 'forced' into a costume at her whim. Her smile as she realized he was acquiescing was worth whatever humiliation might come from the evening. He gave her a large answering smile, then gestured to the door, "You go pilfer a sword."

She started to move, her hand on the doorknob before she turned back to him.

"You're divorced." Her smile was large and he loved the way it lit up his face. It gave him hope that she maybe was in this the same way he was, maybe he was more than just another good time.

He responded with a simple nod and then watched as she opened the door and, hips swaying enticingly, walked out, pausing only long enough to grab a small envelope off the nightstand as she went. The door closed quietly after him.

He tried to pull himself together, staring at the door for a long moment after it shut before turning away. He moved back to the bed, pausing to pick his shirt, jacket and vest off the ground and hang them neatly over the bed post. Sitting down, he let a grin take over his features. Just an hour earlier he had been intensely depressed, his failed marriage weighing his heart down, but now…

He let out a contented sigh as he stood, ready to face whatever the night had to offer. He had just begun to pull the Roman tunic off it's hanger when the door opened and Phryne stepped in.

For a brief crazy moment, he hoped that she had changed her mind, had decided not to go back to the party and instead finish what they had started earlier. The thought was wiped from his mind as he caught sight of her face, her eyes wide in horror and mouth turned down in distress. Every part of her posture and expression screamed that something was very wrong. He was in front of her in an instant, his hand wrapped gently around her elbow.

"What is it?"

"This was left for me." She held out the blue ribbon for him to see as she stepped closer, "It was Janey's. She was wearing ribbons in her hair the day she disappeared."

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 **AN:** And we all know what happens from there. Not good. BUT: Three cheers for Jack's divorce. Hip-Hip-Huzzah!

 **AN2:** I know in the episode there are other people around when Jack and Phryne first greet each other during the party. He just sort of comes around a corner and sees her. I decided to shift that a bit so I could really give Jack time to evaluate her outfit before they speak. Minor change.

 **AN3:** "Eternity Was in Our Lips and Eyes" is from Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra (Act I, Scene III):

Line 32-38 - **Cleopatra:** Nay, pray you, seek no color for your going,  
Bud bid farewell and go. When you sued staying,  
Then was the time for words. No going then!  
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,  
Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven. They are so still,  
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,  
Art turned the greatest liar.

 **Meaning:** Antony and Cleopatra are having an argument because she believes that Antony is heading home at the request of his wife. In reality his wife, Fulvia, has died and he must return to Rome to see to her funeral. But Cleopatra will not let him speak, ranting about his faithlessness. When she finishes her chastisement, Antony reveals to her that he no longer has any duties standing between him and her. That he can finally be with her completely.


	13. 1x13 Daggers in Men's Smiles - Jack

**AN** : On the bad side: I know that I have massively slowed down getting these posted. I often find that my biggest problem with writing stories for shows that are no longer on the air is that some other show takes over my muse's attention. For the time being I am ignoring said muse's desire for me to start a dozen Once Upon a Time and APB (which is the bigger problem as basically no one is writing for it, so I don't even have stuff to read to help the growing addiction) stories cuz I hate myself when I leave stories partly finished. So I will not start anything new until I finish these and "Out of Sight", but they'll be slower as inspiration becomes harder to come by.

 **AN2:** On the good side: You all get a double whammy with this episode. I couldn't decide whose perspective to write this from, Jack's or Phryne's, and my attempt to go back and forth between the two was clunky and hard to read. So I wrote both, as separate pieces, thinking that I would end up liking one more than the other. But I like them both, equally. So... instead of one chapter for this episode, you guys get two. This one from Jack's perspective, the next from Phryne's. I'm posting this one today. Phryne's will be tomorrow. I considered waiting until I can do a final edit on Phryne's and posting them both tomorrow, but didn't want you all to wait any longer than necessary for an update.

 **AN3:** Episode 1.13 - King Memses' Curse

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 **Daggers in Men's Smiles - Jack**

Jack couldn't remember how many times he'd been in this kitchen, sat at this very table. Going over a case. Or eating a meal with her and Dot, sometimes Bert and Cec, Butler there as well, joining the conversation even as he went about his cooking. He'd been in this kitchen too many times to count.

And never before had it felt as vast as it did at that moment, sitting across from her as she reviewed the typed copy of her statement about the events of the last few days. Everything from finding the toffee apple by the pool to her world going black as Jack swung her into his arms in the museum basement. It had been like this ever since they had realized that Foyle had never been after Janey to begin with, that it had been Phryne he'd been after all along. Every room felt too big, any distance between himself and Miss Fisher too great. Because how could he protect her if they were separated even a little?

That feeling had only gotten stronger after even locking her behind bars had not been enough to keep her safe. He'd tried his best to hide it; to make sure that his expression didn't show how desperately he needed to be by her side since then. He thinks he'd fooled Dot and Jane, Cec and Bert, but the looks that Doctor MacMillan had given him as he'd sat by her bedside at the hospital, waiting for her to wake, and the one Mr. Butler had thrown his way when he'd insisted on driving her home himself, suggested that he hadn't gotten anything past the two of them. However, neither had said anything, for which he was grateful beyond measure.

Now he needed to figure out what to do about it. How he was supposed to step back into his day to day routine when that feeling sat so heavy on him.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as Phryne shifted slightly across from him, her eyes flitting across the words in front of her as she read. He might not have his own reaction to the last few days sorted out, but he would get Phryne through the last step of the case and then she could hopefully start putting her newfound closure to use and put the events of her childhood behind her.

"So, if that's a true statement of events as you recall them…" He trailed off as she flipped to the final page of the document. He could see his own name in the last lines of the page and once again felt a wave of relief wash over him at having gotten to her when he did.

For a long moment silence hung between them as she finished reading, released a short breath, and then looked up at him. Her expression was guarded and he wondered what she was thinking. It was unusual these days for him not to have some inkling of what was going on behind those beautiful eyes of hers. They were so frequently in sync that he often could figure out her thinking before he had a solid handle on his own.

His eyes stayed locked on hers for the short moment before she looked back down at the paper in front of her, her face stoic and carefully blank as she put pen to paper and signed her name to the statement. She didn't look up at him as she took in her flowing signature below the neatly typed lines that spelled out the horror of her last few days. After a moment, she moved, flipping back to the top page of the document, laying the pen down gently on top of the papers, and pushing them towards him.

He reached out to receive them, his eyes searching her face carefully as he did. Her signature and this last bit of paperwork were the end of it, legally and officially speaking. There would be a trial, this time for murder rather than just kidnapping, but with all of the evidence, including the bodies of the young girls, Jack doubted that Phryne would be forced to testify. So, in every way that could be officially spelled out, it was done.

But as Jack watched Phryne, he knew that for her the hard part was not yet over. The seeming calm that she had forced onto her features over the last 24 hours didn't fool him one bit, he knew her too well. He wished that she didn't feel that she had to pretend to be invincible, at least not around him. He suspected that most of the act was not for him or any of the other adults as much as it was for Jane. The young girl was recovering well from the ordeal though, buoyed by the mental strength of both her youth and her life prior to coming in Phryne's home.

And no matter who else she might feel the need to be strong around, Jack wished desperately that she would drop that facade for him. There was no amount of grief or anger or terror that she could show him that would make him think less of her and he wanted to believe that she knew that he would be there for her, no matter what. His heart had been hers since long before he'd even begun to think that he might be falling for her and there was nothing that would change that.

Just as he was about to voice his thoughts, to try to find the words to tell her exactly how much he admired and cared for her, she spoke, her words soft, her tone betraying how hard the events with Foyle had hit her.

"Aunt Prudence has organized for my sister to be buried in the family plot."

She paused, raising her eyes to his. He could see the pain she had been trying so hard to hide from everyone. He nodded minutely, not wanting to speak and interrupt her now that she seemed to be letting him in. When she spoke again a moment later, her voice was hoarse and broken and he could see tears beginning to form.

"Janey died instead of me."

She closed her eyes as the tears began to fall silently down her cheeks.

Sitting across from her, Jack opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again. There were no words that would take away that truth and he wouldn't insult her by trying to deny it. There was nothing he could say that could change what had happened or how it had shaped the woman in front of him. Instead he stood and quietly came around the table to her side.

For a brief moment, as he stood next to her chair, he considered that she might not want his comfort, that she might prefer that he walk away and leave her to grieve alone. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that he couldn't do that. Until the moment when she specifically asked him to leave her be, he would do everything in his power to stay by her side. He wouldn't abandon her as he knew so many others in her life had.

Crouching down beside her, and ignoring the brief stab of pain that went through his knee at the movement, he took her hand gently in his. Her eyes opened at the contact and the expression of surprise and gratitude that overtook her features, even as the tears continued to fall, made him sure that she had indeed expected him to walk away.

He squeezed her hand as their eyes locked, willing her to understand, to accept that he was there for her. When she returned the pressure, her own fingers pressing tightly against his, he gave her a soft smile glad that she was accepting the comfort that he was more than happy to provide.

After several long moments, Phryne's eyes drifted away from his to stare instead at where their joined hands lay against her thigh. Jack's eyes followed hers and he was mildly startled to find that he was stroking his thumb gently across her knuckles. The motion had been entirely absent minded on his part, too concerned with Phryne to notice a behavior he would have reined in as being too intimate, revealing too much of his feelings for her.

He was contemplating that tendency he had developed over the previous year - to pull back when things might be more than was appropriate - when Phryne started to stand, her chair legs scraping against the floor breaking the silence that had been surrounding them.

For a brief moment that felt like an eternity, Jack's heart sank. He was sure that she was pushing him away, ashamed perhaps that she had shown him such vulnerability, or angry about the gentle gesture that he had just been mulling over. Then he felt her hand tighten around his, pulling him up to stand with her. He was barely on his feet, his knee protesting once again, before she was releasing his hand. Before the pain at the dismissal he assumed was coming could fully set in, she was stepping into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she buried her face against his neck.

His relief was palpable, the weight that had settled on his chest lifting as suddenly as it had come, and he gladly raised his arms to pull her tightly against him, happy to provide any comfort he could to help her through her grief. The silent tears that had coursed down her cheeks for the previous few minutes became heavy sobs wracking her body as she finally stopped trying to hold them in. He was honestly surprised and impressed that she had managed to hold herself together as long as she had - he certainly wouldn't have lasted as long under the same circumstances.

For several minutes, they stood together, Jack's arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she cried. He could feel the wet spot on his shoulder as her tears soaked through his jacket and shirt, but in that moment he could not have cared less about the state of his clothes. The only thing that mattered to him was being there for her as much as possible. Eventually her sobs began to die off, her body no longer shuddering with each gasped breath and tearful exhale.

When he was sure that her tearful sojourn was basically done, he loosened his grasp on her slightly, one hand rising to stroke her back as he began to speak, his words an unfocused mess as he whispered whatever comforting thoughts he could think of against her hair.

"We got him, Phryne, we got him. You aren't alone. It'll be okay, we'll find a way. You aren't alone."

Initially his focus was exclusively on comforting her, on making sure that she knew that they would find a way to get through things, but as her breath against his neck evened out and her sobs died down to nothing, he found his mind drifting. To the smell of her perfume. To the contrast of the rough material of her dress under his palm and the soft skin of her forehead where it rested against his neck. And to how incredible it felt to hold her in his arms. He had to keep reminding himself, a stern voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like his father's, that this was hardly the time to be allowing his libido to have any kind of hold of him. She was in pain. That should be his only focus.

Eventually her breathing stilled completely and her hold around his shoulders loosened. With a deep breath, he schooled his features, not allowing any of the want and desire he currently felt to show on his face, and reluctantly released her, taking a half step back as he did so. He was glad of the distance when she raised her eyes to his. 'God, she's beautiful.' The thought crossed his mind before he could rein it in.

Even after crying for several minutes, with her eyes puffy and wet streaks in her make-up she was still the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen. And when she gave him a gentle smile he couldn't help but return it.

"Thank you, Jack." Her voice was soft, barely bridging the gap between them. "Thank you for being here."

She paused for a long moment, opening her mouth slightly as if there was something more she wanted to say, but then shut it with a slight shake of her head. Breaking their eye contact, she looked away, a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

It took him longer than it should have to understand where that blush was coming from. Did she really think that she need to thank him for that? For being a friend? For helping her cope with something that would have destroyed even the strongest of souls? A wave of anger swept through him. Anger at everyone who had ever walked away when times got tough. At everyone who had ever asked her for more than just her friendship in return for theirs. He would not let her believe that was him; that that would ever be them.

Raising a hand, he tucked a finger under her chin and with a gentle pressure coaxed her to raise her eyes back to his.

"You never have to thank me for that." He paused to take a deep breath, gathering courage, and let his mask drop, willing her to see every feeling of care and worry and love he possessed for her, before he spoke again. "You are immensely important to me, Phryne Fisher. I'm not going anywhere."

Her eyes widened as she took in his expression and words, understanding, he hoped, all of things that he hadn't said. Yet.

But he wouldn't push her. She'd been through too much in the last week for him to push further than he already had, which was probably too far, though he took it as a good sign that she hadn't slapped him or asked him to leave. Giving her a gentle smile, he raised his hands to her face, using his thumbs to wipe the last remnants of her tears from her cheeks.

He had meant it to be a simple gesture. Just to wipe the tears he couldn't stand to see away and then step away, let her make whatever move might come next. But the wide smile that bloomed on her face at his actions, the first real, happy smile he'd seen from her since before her cousin's engagement party went to hell, held him in place for a long moment after. And when she leaned into one of the hands still cupping her cheeks, he found himself unable to just move away from her.

Instead he shifted closer. Not as close as they had been when she'd been crying in his arms, but close enough for him to tilt her head down slightly and lay a lingering kiss on her forehead, his eyes firmly closed as he pressed his lips to her soft skin. Even as he did it, he cursed himself for his lack of willpower. It was exactly what he had told himself he wouldn't do: push. Guilt coursed through him as he stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides, waiting for whatever censure she might throw at him.

"Jack."

His eyes snapped open as his name left her lips in a breathy sigh. There was no anger in her expression, no confusion, or regret. None of the emotions that he expected to see. What he saw instead surprised him.

Most of the anguish of the previous minutes was gone, only a slight sadness lingering in her eyes. In it's place he saw a tenderness and affection that stunned him to the core. He knew that expression. It was one that had graced his own face numerous times over the previous year - every ounce of love and awe he felt painted across his features even as he tried so desperately to hide it. He knew that expression.

Except that she wasn't trying to hide anything. Her face had never been more open to him. Still it took him a long while to process what he was seeing. Because he had never expected to see that expression on her face directed at him. He knew she cared about him, but he had never really considered for even a moment that she could feel more, could feel for him as much as he did for her. He searched her eyes, trying to confirm what he thought he was seeing: that she loved him as much as he did her.

"Jack."

This time there was no way he could deny the love in her tone, as surprised as he still was by this revelation. A smile lit up his face as he allowed his own walls to fall as he stepped up to her. He paused only a moment longer before he leaned forward and brought his lips to hers.

Like the one he had laid on her forehead, this kiss was gentle and lingering. He marvelled at the softness of her lips against his, the memory of their kiss in Cafe Replique five months earlier paling in comparison to the moment he now found himself in.

It was only a few moments before the kiss deepened as Phryne wrapped a hand behind his neck, sighing his name once again against his mouth as she stepped into him fully. He took advantage of her open mouth, sweeping his tongue over her bottom lip before delving into her mouth, his arms wrapping her firmly in his embrace, one hand on her lower back while the other buried in her raven hair.

She tasted of whiskey - she'd been sipping at a glass when he had arrived an hour earlier with the investigation paperwork - and mint and something distinctly unique that he felt could only be Phryne herself. He was sure, as her tongue danced against his, that he could live the rest of his life with that taste and no other and be perfectly content. Her fingers gripping the back of his neck and her soft moans as he pulled her even closer to him, her breasts flattened against his chest, left him in very little doubt that she would be reasonably comfortable with that arrangement as well. One of her hands wormed itself under his jacket and he let out a deep groan as she fisted the material of his vest and shirt.

He was just beginning to walk her backwards, his intended destination the kitchen table, his mouth shifting to her neck, when he heard footsteps in the hallway coming their way. A heightened tension in her shoulders confirmed that she had heard them, too, and he pulled away just enough for propriety's sake and dropped his hands to his sides reluctantly as Mr. Butler entered the room.

"Excuse me." The older man's tone was polite and even as he stepped past them to the sideboard. Not for the first time, Jack got the distinct impression that the other man was taking in far more of the scene than his actions made it appear. His only proof of this, though, was the small grin that graced Butler's face as the older man picked up a tray of drinks before exiting the room.

Before Jack could consider moving back towards Phryne, he heard another set of footsteps. With a sigh as he recognized the click, click of heels on flooring, he took another large step away from her, raising a hand as he did so in an attempt to make some order out of his hair. He was rewarded by Phryne's grin and nod of approval just as Dot entered.

The young woman paused in the doorway to smile gently at them both before moving to the sideboard apparently completely unaware, unlike Butler, of what had been happening just a few moments before her arrival. Picking up a tray of hors d'oeuvres, she took a step back towards the doorway. She paused, turning slightly toward Phryne.

"They're asking for you, Miss." As she spoke, a burst of jazz erupted from the other room, a lively beat and heavy brass number. With a small smile at her employer and friend, the younger woman headed back toward the parlor.

For a moment a bright smile played over Phryne's features, but it quickly disappeared as the recent revelations about her date of birth came back to her. Her tone was heavy with sadness as she spoke.

"My birthday party."

He understood her sadness and he doubted that she'd ever be able to celebrate the day again without thinking about the fact that it had caused so much pain, not just for herself but a good many others as well during Foyle's insane quest. He understood, but he refused to let that man take one more ounce of her happiness. Jack couldn't take away the pain that Foyle has already caused in her life, but he could do his utmost to make sure that he didn't steal another second of it from her.

Closing the distance between them quickly, he pulled her to him, his lips sealing over hers as they opened in surprise at his sudden action. He allowed himself one brief taste, his tongue sweeping against hers momentarily, before he pulled away, far too aware now of the other people in the house and wary of the temptation of deepening the kiss further.

He stepped away, his hand sliding over her shoulder and down her arm to clasp her hand as he had done earlier. His other briefly caressed her cheek as he spoke.

"Don't. You deserve this party. Don't let him take that away from you as well."

He could see the moment when she understood his meaning and she nodded her head in recognition of his point and matched his smile with one of her own. He gave her hand a squeeze before speaking again.

"Now, let's go celebrate another year of the wonderful Phryne Fisher."

With one last grin towards her, he turned and headed toward the doorway only to be stopped by a tug on his hand. He turned back to see that she hadn't moved. A wave of fear and concern washed over him - was she rethinking this? Was there another of her former lovers out in the parlor? - but he kept it off his face as he waited patiently for her to speak.

"Will you stay after the party, Jack?" Her voice was quiet, almost timid, as her gaze locked on his and he could see an edge of fear in her expression as she waited for his answer. As if after everything that had happened tonight he would refuse her. As if he had ever really been able to refuse her anything.

His gaze darkened as he took in the whole of her meaning. To stay here tonight, to stay with her tonight. The desire to kiss her senseless and say to hell with the party swept over him and he had taken a half step towards her, his hand tightening around hers, before his better sense stopped him. They would need to go into the party and he certainly didn't want to be the cause of her missing out on an event in her honor, even if the dark look in her own eyes suggested that she wouldn't mind his earlier intentions in the slightest. He contented himself with brushing a kiss over her knuckles before he spoke, his voice harsh with desire.

"Of course."

Her smile could only be described as predatory before she turned and headed out of the kitchen, his hand bumping against her backside, quite deliberately he was sure, as she pulled him behind her toward the noise of music and people. She paused in the foyer to turn momentarily back to him, grasping his hand in both of her own for a brief second before her name was called from the party. She let go of his hand reluctantly before a bright grin lit up her features and she turned away from him into the parlor, grabbing a glass of champagne as she went and greeting her guests.

Her watched her for several long moments, dancing with Mac, exchanging jibes with Bert, and twirling with Jane. He was glad that she could find happiness in these people, her closest friends, even after everything that had happened. And with him as well, he hoped.

His earlier dark smile came back to his features as he settled himself against the door frame with a glass of champagne, his eyes never leaving hers. He was pleased to see her happy and smiling, a real genuine smile now, as her friends helped her celebrate, but he was also very much looking forward to the private celebration that he had in mind for after everyone else left.

As her eyes met his from across the room, her own champagne in hand, he was pleased to see that his expression of desire was mirrored on her features as well. As had been true since practically the day they met, they seemed to be thinking along much the same lines.

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 **AN:** "Daggers in Men's Smiles" is from Shakespeare's Macbeth (Act II, Scene III):

Line 116-118 - **Malcolm:** What will you do? Let's not consort with them,  
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.

Line 119-122 - **Donalbain:** To Ireland, I. Our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer. Where we are,  
There's daggers in men's smiles. The near in blood,  
The nearer bloody.

 **Meaning:** Malcolm and Donalbain are the sons of King Duncan who has just been discovered murdered. The two boys begin to doubt their safety surrounded by individuals that pretend sorrow over the king's death, but who they don't trust. Donalbain's comment is that in their current location, Macbeth's castle, men might smile and pretend to be friends while waiting to stab them in the back. Especially those who are part of the family - "near in blood" - as they could have claim to the throne.


	14. 1x13 Daggers in Men's Smiles - Phryne

AN: Okay, here it is. Finally. Sorry for the wait. My life got way out in front of me and I've been chasing after it for the last couple of weeks. I now believe that calm and sanity have returned, so here you go. I'll also be posting an APB story that was so niggling that it was actively stopping me from completing the rewrite of this, so if you enjoy that show, please read.

AN2: Episode 1.13 - King Memses' Curse

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Daggers in Men's Smiles - Phryne

For as long as Phryne had lived at Wardlow, she had considered the kitchen to be the heart of the house. Because while she might host guests in the parlor or dining room, only a very few of those guests could be counted as particularly important to Phryne - could be counted as family, blood or not. And the kitchen was where her family came together.

Not her biological family, of course, because Aunt Prudence would sooner drop dead than take a meal in the kitchen, but rather the family that she had built around her since returning to Melbourne a year ago. Young Jane, who reminded Phryne so much of herself, though she certainly had more good sense than Phryne recalled having at that age. Mr. Butler, who she couldn't imagine her household without, acting not just as servant, but also very much at times like the father Phryne's had never been, with wise words and quiet encouragement when she needed it most. Cec and Bert, course manners and irreverence no match for their huge hearts and compassionate ways. Mac, on the rare occasions when she could be pulled from the hospital for a calm meal. And Jack.

Jack, who had come into her life in the most unexpected of ways and who had taken on a position of such importance that Phryne literally could not think of what her life in Melbourne would be like without him. She had tried a few times, just out of curiosity, to do so, during train rides when whatever book she'd brought along had not been sufficient to keep her occupied or when a bout of insomnia had her roaming her halls at three in the morning. But she just couldn't do it. Couldn't put together a picture of what things would be like without his steady presence.

Jack, who had stuck by her at times and in situations that no one else would have. Who had been by her bed when she'd woken from Foyle's drugging and had known that the first thing she'd care about was Jane and had filled her in on her young ward even before he'd asked how she was doing. Who had insisted on driving her home from the hospital. And who had known, when he showed up with the paperwork she had to sign, exactly which room she would be most comfortable in while reviewing the last few days and had sat quietly across from her, a steady comforting presence while she read through her own statement of the days leading up to and including her willingly going to Foyle in exchange for Jane and Jack's lives.

At first she had been glad when he suggested the kitchen for finalizing the last of the paperwork, but as she read through her account of events, she was no longer sure that it was the best location. Not sure that she could ever sit in her seat here again without remembering the last few days.

She shifted in her seat as she read through her own account of her discovery that Janey had never been Foyle's target, at least not purposefully. That knowledge still sat heavy with Phryne, that her sister had died for nothing more than a clerical error on her idiot father's part. Something about her movement or expression must have given Jack cause for concern. He had given her the police mandated statement authorization guidelines (read through twice, pay attention to details, if you don't really recall don't sign off), but had otherwise been silent as she read through the papers. Now he spoke.

"So, if that's a true statement of events as you recall them…" His voice was a calm, steady anchor for her as she flipped the page and began her final read through of the events at the museum.

She had been so sure, in those moments as she walked into the museum, that she would not be coming out again. Had hoped, certainly, that Dot and Hugh would find a way to save them all, but aware that it was unlikely and reasonably at peace with that reality as long as she could be sure that Jack and Jane would be released as a result. She's quite proud of that, of having the courage to go into a situation knowing she would likely die because it meant saving a part of her family.

She hadn't told Jack that. Hadn't wanted to see his anger or admonishment as he took her initial statement at the hospital. And, she realized as she finished reading, it wouldn't have been a part of the document in front of her anyways. There was no mention here of any of the emotions that had gone with the events. It was just the hard facts, the tangible reality of events as they unfolded. In a weird way, that felt wrong. Not that she wanted details of the terror or disgust or hatred that she had experienced to be down in the police record, but reading through it without those elements somehow managed to remove the reality of it. These were things she had lived through, but for someone in the future, it would just be a series of events. Nothing more.

She sighed as she finished reading the last line, remembering only vaguely the event it described: Jack appearing as her world began to fade in and out following the struggle with Foyle for the gun, her words with the monster, making it very clear that her coming had been nothing to do with him, making sure that he couldn't take the easy way out as she pulled the knife out of his reach, a brief vision of Jane as the grey began to eat away at her vision, and the vague feel of being pulled into Jack's arms, his voice the last thing she heard before the world went black.

She stared at the last line of her statement for a long moment before looking up at the man opposite her. His expression was carefully blank, but she could see in his eyes the turmoil he was feeling beneath that calm exterior. The same turmoil she felt herself. It helped, somehow, to know that she wasn't the only one feeling so intensely disconcerted over the events with Foyle. She knew it was reasonable for her to feel as she did, but she had spent a lifetime being strong and holding herself together in the world's eyes even when she was falling apart inside. And habits were hard to break, though Jack had certainly been making progress on several of hers over the 12 months they'd known each other.

She looked back down at the pages in front of her before her own emotions could break through to the surface. She had managed up to that moment to hold everything down; to keep the tears that had threatened constantly since Foyle had confirmed Janey's fate from falling. Her heart heavy she moved the pen in her hand and signed her name to the statement.

As she put the final dot over the "i" in Fisher, it hit her. It was over. The events that had started, for her at least, at a carnival so many years ago, were finally finished. Foyle was in jail, would hang for what he'd done. Janey's body had been recovered. And Phryne finally had the full truth of things. In some ways she wished she didn't; wished that she could go back to the days when she could image that her sister's disappearance hadn't ended badly. But for the most part she was glad to have the truth.

With a heavy heart she turned the pages back to the top one, hiding her signature, her acknowledgement of all that had happened over the past couple of days. Laying the pen on top of the papers, she pushed them gently towards Jack, not looking at him as she did so, her concentration on the tabletop as she struggled to keep her tears at bay. It had been easier to do when there were more people around, her pride helping to keep her emotions at bay, not wanting anyone to think less of her. Even her reaction at Janey's graveside had been somewhat restrained, the presence of Hugh and Dot keeping her from the hysterics that had boiled up inside her. With just Jack, though, she knew he would think no less of her for any reaction she might have and if it had been a normal post-case evening of just the two of them and a glass or two of whiskey, she wouldn't have thought twice about letting loose the flood of tears she felt. But it wasn't just the two of them, at least not for long. There was a party waiting for her. She wished there wasn't.

Desperate to end the silence that she thought might crush her, she spoke.

"Aunt Prudence has organized for my sister to be buried in the family plot."

She paused and a short moment passed before she could bring herself to look up at him. His expression was one of sympathy and understanding and when he simply nodded to acknowledge her comment, she felt the walls she'd built falling. Her voice was broken as she spoke again, letting out the pain that she'd been holding in, her tears beginning to fall.

"Janey died instead of me."

She closed her eyes as the tears coursed down her cheeks, not wanting to see any censure that might play across his features as she fell apart in front of him.

For several long moments which felt like an eternity, there was absolute silence, then she heard his chair being pushed backwards and his steps as they came towards her. She doesn't know what she expected to happen - maybe that he would just leave the kitchen altogether or try to placate her with empty words - but what she didn't expect was the feel of his gentle touch as he took her hand in his own.

Her eyes sprung open in surprise, tears still pouring out of them as she took in the sight of Inspector Jack Robinson crouched beside her, his expression full of empathy and concern. As their eyes locked, he tightened his grip around her hand for just a moment, the pressure an assurance that he thought no less of her for her tears or pain. She returned the squeeze, willing him to understand, even though she could not frame the words around the grief that threatened to consume her, that she was glad of his presence.

In response, she was rewarded with a small smile spreading across his face and a subtle softening of his features, the empathy of earlier now a background to an expression that she had seen on his face a dozen or hundred times in the past, though never so strongly or directly: worry, care, and love.

The depth of the love she saw in his eyes as their gazes stayed locked together surprised Phryne. She had always known that he cared for her, that had been no secret, though they had certainly both made their various efforts to pretend like it didn't exist over the past year. But to see that tenderness and adoration under the current circumstances, when she had most expected him to walk away, as so many others had through the years, was almost too much when combined with the sorrow that still wracked her and she broke their eye contact to stare down at his hand around hers, his thumb gently brushing against her knuckles, as her thoughts began to race, trying to make sense of the myriad emotions coursing through her.

Her mind was a million jumbled thoughts at once. Looking down at their clasped hands, one idea held her focus more than the others: how many times had they touched before? She thought it must have been quite a bit. Flirty brushes of her hands against his arm or shoulder. His strong grip pulling her out of danger. Accidental and deliberate touches over the last year. She knew that they had happened, a dozen or a hundred or a thousand times, but she could only bring one to mind. Kneeling under a willow tree, her arm reaching behind her, searching for the comfort she knew would be there, his hand warm as it grasped hers, an anchor of comfort as she stared at the bones that had once been her best friend in the world.

And in that moment she knew. No matter what might happen, no matter where their friendship might lead them in the future, no matter how bad things might get, she suddenly knew that he would be there. As he had been since the beginning. As he had been by that river.

And with that realization came another: she didn't have to hide any part of herself from him. He already knew her more completely at times than she thought she knew herself. She didn't need to be strong or keep up appearances. Not with Jack.

The thought had barely crossed her mind before she was acting on it, pushing her chair back as she stood, tugging on his hand to pull him up with her. She thought she saw a brief wave of hurt and sadness cross his features as he came to his feet and she removed her hand from his, but she didn't pause to give it any consideration as she followed through on her planned course of action and stepped into him, her arms going around his shoulders as she buried her face against his neck.

His arms moved around her immediately and as he pulled her tighter into his embrace, she allowed the grief that had been threatening to tear her apart ever since she knelt at her sister's riverside grave to sweep over her fully.

Her sister was dead. She had honestly thought that she had made peace with that likely reality a long time ago, but as she buried her face against Jack's shoulder the now undeniable truth of that fact hit her full on. There would never be a joyful reunion as she'd occasionally let herself imagine. No chance for Phryne to apologize for letting Janey out of her sight all those years previous. No stories exchanged of the lives that they had led. She hadn't really understood how entirely she'd been clinging to that small shred of hope that her little sister might still be alive until the proof of the body was in front of her. Even Foyle's words telling her of Janey's death had not stamped it out completely.

Now, standing with Jack in her kitchen, she let herself feel that truth entirely, her sobs wracking her body as she clung to him as tightly as she could. She could vaguely feel the patch of moisture forming on the fabric under her cheek, but she gave no thought to it or anything other than finally, freely letting herself feel everything that had happened over the past week. Not just Janey's death or her own confrontation with Foyle, but also Jane's kidnapping and the terror that had coursed through her when she realized that Jack was in danger.

After several minutes, Phryne could feel the tears dying out, the overwhelming sorrow slackening once she had let herself feel it. The pain and sadness remained, but as her body quieted and the crying slowed, they were no longer the only things that she could feel. She thought that some portion of that grief would always be with her, shrinking gradually over time, less prominent, less interfering but there all the same. The knowledge was strangely comforting.

As her mind mulled over the slight detachment she now felt from her sadness, Jack's arms loosened slightly around her waist. She was about to protest, her own arms still tight around his shoulders, when one of his hands began to gently stroke her back as he spoke, his voice whisper quiet, but sure.

"We got him, Phryne, we got him. You aren't alone. It'll be okay, we'll find a way. You aren't alone."

His voice helped soothe her grief frazzled nerves. As her breathing evened out and her tears faded, she began to focus more on the words he was saying and less on the calming sound of his voice. They were the perfect words, she realized with a jolt. When she thought that nothing anyone could say could possibly help, he had somehow managed to find the ones that did: 'you aren't alone'.

She had spent so much of her life alone, either literally or figuratively, that she had begun to believe that was how it would always be. She had even tried to convince herself that it was better that way; that being alone was better than taking the risk of anyone leaving, as they always did. But standing in Jack's arms in her kitchen, with the family she built around her waiting in the parlor, she finally stopped trying to pretend to herself that she wanted to be alone.

It should have come as a surprise, after so many decades of fiercely guarded independence and walking away anytime she felt herself getting too close to someone, the sense of belonging, of wanting to be a part of something, should have been a shock. But it wasn't, it was just surrendering to the reality that the last year had shown her.

It made her feel lighter, giving up that stubborn battle, and when she loosened her grip on Jack's shoulders a few moments later and stepped away from him, a very small smile played across her features. A smile which he returned before she spoke, her tone soft and affectionate.

"Thank you, Jack. Thank you for being here."

She paused, wondered if she should say more. She wanted to tell him how incredibly important he was to her and how having him here, in this moment and through everything that had happened during the past week, was something that she was grateful for beyond her ability to express. Most of all, she wanted to be able to explain to him just how much he meant to her. She opened her mouth slightly, on the edge of saying just that, but a small niggle of fear and doubt stopped her and she closed it again, shaking her head at her own cowardice. Breaking their eye contact, she glanced down at the floor, blushing at how entirely unlike her this all was.

The feel of his fingers under her chin brought her eyes back to his and she shivered slightly at the sudden determination in his expression. His words, when he spoke, were pointed, but his tone gentle.

"You never have to thank me for that." He paused, pulling in a deep breath, and his expression shifted.

For the first time in the year that Phryne had known him - certainly for the first time since she began to have an inkling of how deep his feelings might be - his emotions were laid out before her completely. No attempts to hide or softened them. Just him and all he felt laid out for her to see. Adoration and affection and so much love shown on his features. And a small amount of worry, though whether that was worry for herself and the mark the last week might have left on her or worry about how she would react to this open 'confession', Phryne wasn't sure. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the true depth of his feelings, her eyes wide at the revelation, when he continued speaking.

"You are immensely important to me, Phryne Fisher. I'm not going anywhere."

And for the first time in her adult life, she actually believed those words. How many other times had she heard them during her lifetime only to have them proved false? First from her father, making promises to her and her mother, only to wander off as the fancy caught him. From numerous friends as she grew up, only for them to move or go off to school with promises to write that went unfulfilled. From her best friend during the war, a nurse she served with, who eventually could handle the front no longer and had herself sent home. So many people had said that, in one form or another. She had stopped believing them. But Jack? Jack she believed.

Her eyes were locked on his as he raised both hands to gently cup her face, using his thumbs to brush away the tear trails from her cheeks. He was always so careful with her, she thought, but not in a way that ever hinted that he thought she was less than capable. In fact, he was the only person she knew that truly believed her to be capable of anything. He wasn't careful with her because she was a fragile thing to be protected, but rather because she was special to him and he believed that she deserved to be treated as such.

She smiled happily at him as she leaned into his touch. She was in love with him. Probably had been for quite some time, but it was really only in the last few minutes, literally, that she had accepted that, embracing it as her own, instead of running or hiding from it. And to find, in that same time period, just how far the depths of his feelings for her went made her joyful beyond reason.

When he shifted closer to her, a small shuffling step leaving only a few inches between them, she felt a brief thrill. He was going to kiss her. But then he tilted her head down, his hands still gentle against her face, and her heart fell as he laid his lips against her forehead instead. The kiss was soft and wonderful, but over far too quickly and so much less than she wanted in that moment.

Sometime during the moments of the kiss, he had closed his eyes and as he stepped away from her, dropping his hands to his sides as he did, she could read in his expression a sad acceptance and reluctance that it took her long seconds to understand. He had shown her how he felt and now he was moving away, sure that she didn't, maybe couldn't feel the same. She wouldn't let him believe that.

Before she had made the conscious decision to speak, his name had escaped her in a quiet sigh. She smiled widely at him as his eyes flashed open and she let down all of her carefully built defenses, hoping that he could read her face as well as she had learned to read his. Hoping that he could see everything that she had wanted to tell him earlier before her courage failed her, that she loved him as he loved her.

"Jack." Once again his name tumbled off her lips, the one syllable imbued with every ounce of love and affection she felt for the wonderful, beautiful man in front of her.

And then he was answering her smile with one of his own as he stepped back towards her, pausing for just a heartbeat before leaning in, one hand rising to lightly rest on her waist, and pressing his lips to her own.

Much like the one that he had pressed to her forehead, the kiss was soft and gentle and no where near as much as Phryne wanted. Knowing that Jack would not push for more until he was absolutely sure of her response, she took matters into her own hands, raising a hand to wrap around his neck and bury her fingers in his hair. She sighed his name into the kiss and was rewarded by his immediate response.

His tongue swept briefly across her bottom lip, the motion sending a jolt of arousal straight through her, before delving in to tangle with her own. The hand that had been resting so lightly against her side slid to her back and hauled her tight against him as his other buried itself in her hair. She let out a soft moan at the feel of her chest pressed against his as their tongues danced together.

Wanting more - of his touch, of his kiss, of him - she shifted a hand between them, delving under his jacket, seeking his warmth. Her quest was stymied by the vest that he wore beneath and she was considering pulling back long enough to tell him he needed to wear fewer layers. That thought, as well as all other coherent thinking, was swiftly blown away as he began walking her backwards towards the table, his lips leaving her own to lay kisses across her cheek and down to her throat.

They had only made it a short couple of shuffling steps, her head thrown back to give him as much access to her neck as possible, before the sound of footsteps coming towards them became evident. She had barely registered the noise, her shoulders tensing slightly at the unwelcome interruption, before Jack was pulling away from her and stepping back to create a reasonable gap between them.

They were standing a short ways apart, hands to themselves, and some control over their breathing regained by the time Mr. Butler stepped into the kitchen. Not that Phryne thought that would fool the older man for even a moment, it was all too obvious to an experienced observer what had been happening moments earlier.

His polite, "Excuse me" gave nothing away, but the small smile that bent his lips as he stepped over to the sideboard made it clear to her that he was very aware of what he had unwittingly interrupted and possibly not the least bit surprised by it. He picked up a tray of drinks and without another word made his exit.

Any thoughts she'd had of moving immediately back into Jack's arms were put aside as she heard another set of footsteps, the soft click clack that she recognized as Dot's heels, coming through the dining room towards them. She smiled brightly as Jack put even more distance between them, his hand rising to his head at the same time, trying to put his hair to rights, and she gave him a small nod in response to the questioning look he sent her way just as Dot appeared in the doorway.

The young woman paused briefly on the threshold, smiling at both of them in turn, completely oblivious in her naïveté to what had been going on a minute before her entrance. She followed Butler's earlier path to the sideboard, bending slightly to pick up a tray piled with exquisite looking hors d'oeuvres, and then turned back toward the door. She'd taken a single step in that direction, but stopped to turn toward Phryne.

"They're asking for you, Miss."

As she spoke, a blast of music could be heard from the other room. Phryne's smile widened at the heavy jazz beat coming from the parlor. Dot gave them both another brief smile and then she was gone.

Phryne large smile only lasted for a moment as the reality of this party, of this date, came back to her. Her birthday, December 21st. One day out of 365 that she could have been born on. The one that had caused Foyle's obsession and the deaths of her sister and so many others. Her expression was a mask of sorrow and that sadness crept into her voice as her eyes met Jack's.

"My birthday party."

She watched a myriad of emotions, including anger and sadness, cross his features. Then he was closing the distance between them and pulling her into him, his lips unerringly finding hers, his tongue sweeping across hers just once as she gasped in surprise before he was pulling away. It was the last reaction she could have expected and it wasn't until he spoke, stepping away, his hand dropping down her arm to grasp her hand, that she understood.

"Don't." His words were a soft command as he raised his other hand to caress her cheek, "You deserve this party. Don't let him take that away from you as well."

Phryne could find no words. Once again he had proved himself to be completely and totally there for her, not willing to let her ignore the good - her friends in the other room, her birthday, him - or wallow in the bad. She nodded at him, knowing that he was right. If she refused to ever enjoy things again because of what Foyle had done, then she would have lost just as much as if he had killed her.

She matched Jack's soft smile with one of her own and it broadened as he squeezed her hand and spoke.

"Now, let's go celebrate another year of the wonderful Phryne Fisher."

His grin was infectious, but as he turned away from her, a thought stopped the smile that was forming on her face: they were doing what they had done so many times before. Something would happen between them - a touch that lasted too long, him pulling her against him backstage in a dark theater, the kiss in Cafe Replique - and they would just move on. She didn't want that to happen this time, didn't want him to think that this was in any way the same, didn't want to go into that party without some kind of future plan and understanding in place with him.

As he began to head toward the door, she stayed put, her hand tugging on his when he stepped to the end of their arms reach. When he turned back, the confusion on his face was obvious, but she thought she also detected a slight bit of panic in his eyes. She didn't know where it stemmed from, but it put her slightly on edge, her next words not as confident as she had planned as a result.

"Will you stay after the party, Jack?"

Her eyes were locked on his and she was glad when the fear she'd seen in them seconds earlier disappeared at her words, quickly replaced by longing and desire as he fully took in the implications of her words. The look in his eyes as he realized that she was asking him to stay the night caused her heart rate to spike and a warm flush to spread through her body. Whatever had given him that hint of panic was long gone, his eyes so dark they were almost black as he took a half step towards her, his hand squeezing hers tightly and eyes locked on her lips, his intent obvious.

Before he could take more than the one step in her direction his better judgement seemed to come back and he stopped abruptly. The reluctance in his expression was easy to read and she understood it completely. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to have his lips back on her own, to be able to take the back stairs up to her room and not emerge for many, many hours. And she would have, happily and without a second thought, if it weren't for the party of people waiting in her parlor.

His eyes still dark with desire, Jack lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed a brief kiss over her knuckles.

"Of course."

It took her a moment to realize that he was responding to her earlier question and a shiver went up her spine at the harsh longing in his tone. Another thought of leaving her guests to their own devices while she and Jack held a private celebration of their own crossed her mind, but she pushed it down. She had her responsibilities as hostess and as much as she might want to ignore them, she wouldn't.

With a dark smile, she moved past him, his hand still clutched tight in hers as she pulled him with her out of the kitchen. As they passed through the dining room, she made sure that his hand in her own bumped repeatedly against her rear, taking pleasure in this new turn of events and the openness that it created between them.

When they stepped into the foyer, she stopped, turning to look at him directly. His eyes were still dark with desire, but the laughing grin that was spread across his features softened the look. She took his hand in both of hers, grasping it in front of her, their new understanding making her gleeful. A million things that she wanted to tell him flashed through her mind, but before she could settle on any one her name was called from the parlor.

A laughing smile grew on her lips at the mild annoyance that shot across his expression at the interruption. She gave his hand one last squeeze before she released it, her smile large as she turned away from him and walked into the party, pausing only long enough to snag a glass of champagne as she stepped into the parlor.

The party was already in full swing and despite the sadness and horror of the past few days, Phryne threw herself into the celebration with a happy heart. Jack was right. Janey was dead and nothing could change that, but Phryne was not and she owed it to her sister to keep on living every moment of the life she had.

She was so grateful to the people around her, this little family that she'd built for herself. Cec and Bert, who were currently having a risque joke competition into which she threw a ribald one liner as she moved past them. Jane, twirling away in her newest dress, none of the difficulties of the past week visible in her brilliant smile and carefree laughter. Mac and Butler, deep in conversation in a corner away from the loudest parts of the gathering. Dot and Hugh, so adorable in their nervous flirting. And Jack…

It took her only a moment of scanning the crowd to find him, leaning against the doorway to the parlor a glass of champagne in hand, watching her. As their eyes locked from across the room, she idly wondered if he'd taken his eyes off her at all during the ten minutes since she left the foyer. His expression was still one of dark intensity as he raised his champagne slightly in toast to her and she knew her own mirrored his desire.

Never in her life had Phryne wanted a party to end more swiftly than she did that one. She knew it would be hours still before the house cleared of revelers; before the last of her guests teetered off in various stages of inebriation; before she could have Jack all to herself.

But then, he wasn't going anywhere. She could wait a few more hours.

X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

AN: For the couple of people who were surprised by my choice of this scene for my kiss insert: there were a couple of other places that I considered, but upon rewatching the episode for the 30th time, the thing that most struck me was the look they exchange at the end of the episode. One, the sheer intensity of the look on Jack's face reads to me like a man who has "plans" for the woman he's looking at and Two, it's not a look that is normal for this early in the series. As a viewer you see it a lot more in seasons 2 and 3, but it's pretty unique for season 1 - even the look they exchange over the portrait of a naked Phryne doesn't have the same intensity. So I wanted to create a sequence that would play off that look. I considered doing one post-party, but I'm partial to the hurt/comfort that this allows. If I end up doing an M-rated set of these, it will probably be a post-party one.

AN2: "Daggers in Men's Smiles" is from Shakespeare's Macbeth (Act II, Scene III):

Line 116-118 - Malcolm: What will you do? Let's not consort with them,  
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.

Line 119-122 - Donalbain: To Ireland, I. Our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer. Where we are,  
There's daggers in men's smiles. The near in blood,  
The nearer bloody.

Meaning: Malcolm and Donalbain are the sons of King Duncan who has just been discovered murdered. The two boys begin to doubt their safety surrounded by individuals that pretend sorrow over the king's death, but who they don't trust. Donalbain's comment is that in their current location, Macbeth's castle, men might smile and pretend to be friends while waiting to stab them in the back. Especially those who are part of the family - "near in blood" - as they could have claim to the throne.


End file.
